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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
















EVA. 


A NOVEL. 


BY 

HATTIE WELLER WORDEN 


AUTHOR OF EDNA LEE. 



LILY DALE, N. Y. 

SUNFLOWER PUBLISHING CO. 
1906 . 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two Cooies Received 

JUL 23 1906 


// Copyright Entry 
ylASS Cl xxc, No. 

7 /^9fcg: 

COPY B. 


Copyrighted, 1906 

By HATTIE WELLER WORDEN. 


TO MY 

v HUSBAND 


THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED. 


* 


KVA. 


CHAPTER I. 

It had once been a fine old place, but Time’s 
relentless fingers had left their impress upon it. 
For fourteen , years it had been unoccupied save 
for the four-footed tenants which had taken up 
their abode within its walls, at their own sweet 
will, their possession disputed only by bats and a 
few of the feathered tribe which occasionally en- 
tered through the broken windows. 

The walls were thickly overgrown with vines; 
the grounds which had once been beautiful with 
flowers and rustic arbors were now choked with 
tall weeds, grass had grown in the gravel walks 
and drives, and the fountains which once had 
plashed and played were filled up with the debris 
of leaves, branches, sticks and stones. 

The boys in the village on the outskirts of which 
this old mansion stood had been the worst depre- 
dators, for they had broken the glass out of most 
of the windows, the branches of every fruit tree 
on the premises had suffered at their hands, they 


6 


EYA. 


had thrown stones into the basins of the foun- 
tains, broken down the rustic arbors, drained the 
water off the little fish pond in the grounds at the 
back of the mansion, and then as though not con- 
tent with all that work of devastation, had, as 
though wishing to add insult to injury, put up a 
board at the entrance gates on which was painted 
in great black letters the one word, “Haunted. ” 
The rosy glow of the dying day was tingeing the 
vine covered walls, and lighting up the few win- 
dows in the upper stories which had escaped the 
bombardment of stones, and in the sunset coloring 
this old ruined home seemed to smile a sad, hope- 
less smile as though in memory of vanished joys 
and days departed, of resignation to the inevitable. 

So thought a solitary horseman who had drawn 
up at the gateway as he looked up at the great 
house and over the grounds, and as his wandering 
gaze took in the whole scene he said aloud: “What 
is more pathetic than an old deserted home?” 
Then as his eyes rested on the board which had 
been painted with the suggestive word he smiled 
and patted his horse on the neck. “Well, Rocket, 
this grows interesting, and as we have not money 
enough to put up at the village hotel we may have 
to pass the night among the ghosts, eh, old boy? 
This is what comes of giving one’s last cent to a 
wayfarer, and not calculating correctly the length 
of one’s journey. Never mind, old boy, we will see 
what kind of a place this is. I don’t believe you 
are very superstitious, and I am sure I am not, so 
perhaps this place will do as well as a hostelry. 


EYA. 


7 


I don’t care so much on my own account as on 
yours, for you have come a long distance, and you 
shall have your supper and lodging if your master 
goes without his. We will manage it in some way.” 

He turned in at the gate and followed the drive 
which led around to the rear of the mansion, hop- 
ing to find a stable of some kind, but he saw only 
the remains of one, which, to judge by appear- 
ances, had been destroyed by fire many years be- 
fore. 

“Well, Rocket, things begin to look serious,” he 
said, gazing about him with a perplexed look. He 
thrust his hands down deep in his pockets, when 
an expression of pleased surprise overspread his 
face. He drew up one hand with a half-dollar be- 
tween the fingers. “I did not know I had that,” 
he said. “Well, old boy, that will pay for your bed 
and supper at the village hotel barn, and I don’t 
care so much for myself. I will put you up at the 
village public house, and I can come and put up 
at the haunted house. It will be a shelter at any 
rate, and the next time we go on a pilgrimage we 
won’t give our money all away to the first beg- 
gar we chance to meet until we find out how long 
we must be on the road.” 

Turning about he rode slowly out of the grounds, 
and the tired horse turned reluctantly into the 
highway again, and, a little farther on they en- 
tered the village of Greendell and drew up at the 
inn. It was a new and not a pleasant experience 
to Ernest Grayland to be obliged to ask the price 
of a night’s lodging for his horse, but he did it 


8 


EYA. 


with as good a grace as possible, and found to his 
relief that Rocket’s supper, bed and breakfast at 
the village hostelry would be just half a dollar. 
He paid it in advance, and telling the man that 
he would be there by seven the next morning he 
left the stable and turned his steps in the direc- 
tion of the haunted house. 

The prospect was not a pleasant one. He was 
a stranger in a strange place. He had started 
from home in response to a summons from an en- 
tire stranger who requested him in a letter which 
had been brought to him by a boy, to come out 
to a camp of Gypsies where the writer was lying 
ill without hope of recovery, and hear a confession 
which was of vital importance to the living, and 
to come alone. He had started as soon as he 
could get ready, and, refusing his valet’s urgent 
request to be allowed to accompany him, set out 
upon his journey on his favorite horse. 

He listened to his man, however, when, just as 
he was about to start he begged him not to take 
much money and no valuables with him, and laugh- 
ingly handed over his watch which was a very 
fine one, and every article of value which he had 
upon his person. Then taking his pocketbook he 
extracted from it three five dollar bills and handed 
the book over also, to the man’s great relief, for 
he did not want his young master to go alone on 
a journey to a Gypsy camp with anything which 
would make a too tempting display. 

The distance was only thirty miles, and Ernest 
fully expected to return within twenty-four hours 
from the time of his departure from home. 


EYA. 


9 


On the way he had come upon a man who was 
so hopelessly crippled that the sight of his help- 
lessness had appealed so strongly to his sympa- 
thies that he had given him the three five dollar 
bills thinking they were all the money he had with 
him, but supposing he would soon be at the Gypsy 
camp he did not expect to be placed in any cir- 
cumstances which would require any money. 

It was after this that he discovered he had taken 
the wrong road and gone miles out of his way, 
and in retracing his steps he had found that night 
was near at hand and his horse weary, while he 
was still some miles from his destination. It was 
then that he had come in sight of the village of 
Greendell, on the outskirts of which he had come 
upon the haunted house. It had occurred to him 
that this would be a shelter, that it would be but 
for one night anyway. He did not wish to tele- 
graph home for money, and as the weather was 
warm he would much prefer staying there to ask- 
ing a night’s lodging of strangers. He would 
rather go without his own supper than ask for it, 
so he turned for the second time into the grounds 
and approached the front entrance to the haunted 
house. 

He walked up the stone steps and tried the mas- 
sive front doors, but they resisted all his efforts. 
He went around the house looking for an opening 
and found one. A door which had once been of 
glass and which opened on a small balcony reached 
by half a dozen stone steps, had suffered from the 
vigorous attacks of the village boys until not only 


10 


EYA. 


the glass had been broken out, but the doorframe 
itself had been almost demolished. He entered 
through this and found himself in a large room 
with high ceiling. A few articles of motheaten 
furniture and some torn and faded curtains still 
occupied it. There was a large fireplace, and over 
the black marble mantel still hung the portrait of a 
young and exquisitely beautiful woman. 

Through an archway he could see a large hall in 
which a grand stairway ascended to the upper 
part of the house. He went up this to the top and 
glanced about, but the upper hall was empty, and 
the doors opening off from it were the doors to 
what had once been the sleeping rooms, and as he 
thought he would rather be on the lower floor, 
he descended to the room he had first entered, and 
where there was an old couch upon which he 
thought he would make his bed for the night. He 
looked in the rooms on the lower floor but in none 
of the others was there so much furniture as in 
this one, so here he decided to stay. “If the ghosts 
will permit me,” he said smiling. 

He stood for some time looking at the pictured 
face that smiled down upon him from above the 
fireplace. The eyes of this portrait seemed to fol- 
low him, for wherever he stood in the room they 
looked directly at him with a smile half proud, 
half mischevious but very sweet. The face showed 
high breeding in every line, and in the poise of the 
head a dignity of bearing, that together with its 
beauty and merry sweetness made it irresistible. 

“If it is the ghost of the original of that picture 


EYA. 


11 


that haunts this house I hope she will pay me a 
visit tonight,” said Ernest, “for I should be happy 
to make the acquaintance of so charming a lady. 
I suppose there has been a tragedy here at some 
time or other, and that is why this fine old place 
has gone to rack and ruin. In accordance with 
what I have always read of haunted houses there 
ought to be a bloodstain about here somewhere on 
the wall or floor. I think I will look around a 
little more. I suppose this beautiful woman was 
murdered by a jealous husband or lover, as such 
stories usually run, and her spirit still holds nightly 
revels within these walls re-enacting the original 
tragedy. 

“I never could understand how a man could al- 
low his common sense to become so blinded by 
jealousy as to cause him to commit murder. 
If a woman whom I loved turned from me to some 
other man and bestowed her favors and affections 
upon him, I believe I should ask myself whether or 
not the fault was mine. At least I think I should 
infer, from her desertion of me, that I was not the 
most charming male creature of the century, and 
come to the conclusion that ‘there were others/ 
and that possibh r some other man might be more 
worthy of her love than I, and she had discern- 
ment enough to see it. But I never saw a jealous 
beast who was not so full of egotism that he 
could not see any fault in himself, and if everyone 
else did not admire him, thought they were doing 
him a personal injury. I like that woman’s face, 
and it strikes me that a man would have to be 


12 


EYA. 


above the ordinary to win and hold her affections.” 

He went slowly up the stairs again and looked 
into the sleeping-rooms on the second floor. In 
some of them the beds and bedding, carpets, cur- 
tains and even some of the toilet articles were still 
in their places, but musty and dusty and moth- 
eaten to the last degree. In one room which was 
finer than the others was a little lace draped crib 
with the soft pillows and coverings still occupying 
it. But although he made a pretty thorough 
search no bloodstain was to be seen. 

As he turned to leave this chamber he glanced up 
and saw written upon the wall above the door the 
words “This is the ghost-room.” 

“So this is where the ghost makes its headquar- 
ters,” he said to himself. “Well, if it was not so 
dusty and musty I would stay in here, but the air 
is better down below, so I think I’ll go down.” 

He went back to the room below and drawing 
the old couch into a position where he could see 
through the archway into the hall, and also a 
portion of the staircase, he lay down upon it and 
prepared to rest and sleep. For Ernest Gravland 
had met with strange experiences in many different 
lands, and therefore was in the habit of making 
the best of worse situations than this. He was 
absolutely devoid of superstitious fear, and he ex- 
pected to sleep, and sleep well in this gruesome 
place which had every appearance of having been 
darkened by sorrow and crime. 

As the light of day faded, and everything in the 
room grew dim and indistinct the last to fade 


EYA. 


13 


into the dusk was the beautiful face, which stood 
out like a fine cameo against the dark wall and 
smiled down upon him until the growing darkness 
shut it from his sight. 

The house was silent as the grave; a drowsiness 
came over him and he dropped into a deep dream- 
less sleep. After a time the moon rose and flooded 
the whole place with its soft rays, and as it 
climbed higher in the heavens it shone in at the 
window and on the couch where the sleeper lay, 
with one arm under his head and his handsome 
face upturned and illumined by the silvery light. 


CHAPTER II. 


In an unpretentious little cottage in the village 
of Greendell Lucinda Nayburn was beginning her 
preparations for supper. Lucinda was not fair, but 
she was fat and over forty, with a figure like a 
dumpling; her waist line defined only by her apron 
strings, which made her look — her husband said — 
“like a bag tied in the middle.’ ’ Her face was fat, 
and her brown eyes dull and expressionless, and 
her hair which was thin and straight, was drawn 
tightly back from her forehead and temples and 
twisted into a little knot on the top of her head, 
which knot her‘ husband jokingly termed “Cindy’s 
knob.” 

It was scarcely five o’clock, but she was bustling 
about, putting the tea-kettle on, and making fre- 
quent trips to the pantry, while her husband sat 
by a window reading a newspaper, and a lovely 
girl of about eighteen was engaged likewise with 
a book. Presently she halted before her husband, 
placed her hands on her hips and in a fretful voice 
began: “Ely Nayburn I wish you’d take your nose 
out of that paper, and pay attention to me.” 

“What is it now, Cindy?” he asked without rais- 
ing his eyes from the printed page. 


EYA. 


15 


“I want you to go down to the meat-market 
and git sum thin’ to fry fer supper. I’m so sick an’ 
tired of eggs I don’t never want to see another in 
all my life.” Ely Nay burn laid down his paper, 
rather reluctantly, and prepared to do as she re- 
quested. 

“What shall I get, Cindy?” he asked, pausing in 
the doorway. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Git what you please, but 
do hurry, and don’t stand an’ gab with every wo- 
man you see.” 

“That will depend on how good looking she may 
be,” replied Ely, with a twinkle in his eyes. “If 
any good looking woman wants to talk to me, I’m 
as ready to talk as she is.” 

“I guess everybody in this place knows that, and 
they all feel sorry fer me. Don’t they Jessamine?”' 

The girl smiled. She was accustomed to this 
sort of thing between these two. 

“Don’t expect me to take sides, please,” she said, 
“for it is safer for me to be on the good side of 
you both. I don’t think you need any assistance 
from anyone, Aunt Cindy. You can hold your own 
well enough.” 

“I shall try to anyhow,” snapped Cindy. 

After Ely had gone on his errand Jessamine laid 
down her book, and said abruptly: “Aunt Cindy, 
you have never told me the story of the “Haunted 
House” and I have asked you about it every time 
I have been here on a visit, but you always put 
me off. Won’t you tell me about it?” 

“No,” replied Cindy with apparent firmness, “I 
never shall.” 


16 


EVA. 


“But why?” persisted Jessamine. “What harm 
could there be in your telling me what gave it such 
a name?” 

“I don’t believe in tellin’ young girls things that’ll 
scare ’em half to death,” replied Cindy gravely. 

Jessamine laughed merrily. “Why, Aunt Cindy,” 
she cried, “I would no more think of being fright- 
ened than 1 would be at a fairy story. I asked 
Uncle Ely why it was that I could never persuade 
you to tell me about it, and he said you did not 
know as much about it as he did, and that he 
would tell me the whole story sometime.” 

Cindy stopped short and looked at Jessamine, 
with anger in her dull brown eyes. He told you 
I didn’t know, did he? The self-conceited old fool! 
Wal, I know more about it than he ever did, and 
I’ll tell you the story as it happened, fer I was 
here in Greendell at the time, an’ knew all about 
it.” 

Jessamine turned to the window to hide a smile 
of triumph at the success of her little ruse, for she 
understood Cindy’s nature well enough to know 
that a word of opposition from Ely would arouse 
every particle of contrariness she possessed. 

“Then the house is really supposed to be haunt- 
ed?” she asked, after she had her countenance well 
under control. 

“I hope you don’t believe no such nonsense as 
that,” said Cindy sharply. 

“Don’t you believe in ghosts, Aunt Cindy?” 
asked the girl innocently. 

“I hope I’ve got more sense than to believe in 
any such foolishness as that.” 


EYA. 


17 


“Then we might go over the ‘haunted house’ 
sometime, and look at the whole place,” said 
Jessamine eagerly. “You will go with me, won’t 
you? I should like to see it.” 

Cindy stopped in the pantry doorway and look- 
ed at the girl with horrified eyes. Then she gave 
a little gasp. “Jessamine Erlwin” she said, in an 
awe-stricken voice, “I wouldn’t go into that house 
nor onto them premises even in broad daylight if 
anybody would give me the biggest farm within 
twenty miles of Greendell, and I like property just 
as well as anybody.” 

“But I thought you said you didn’t believe in 
ghosts,” said the girl, trying to keep from laugh- 
ing outright. 

“I don’t.” 

“Then what are you afraid of?” 

“You don’t know what you might see before 
you got out of there.” 

“But one can’t see a ghost if there isn’t any 
such thing.” 

“You don’t know what j r ou are talking about, 
dear,” said Cindy, dropping her voice to a sooth- 
ing tone as though reasoning with a small child. 

“Well, tell me what happened there,” said Jes- 
samine, “and then I shall understand it better.” 

“Wal,” said Cindy, dropping into a chair, “I 
can’t do no more toward gittin’ supper till that 
man comes, if he ever does. 

“That haunted house used to be the grandest 
place that was ever seen around here. It belonged 
to an awful rich man, and he was handsome as a 


IS 


EYA. 


picture, too. But he used to spend his winters in 
the city. He would come out here summers and 
bring a lot of fashionable company with him, and 
then for a few weeks there would be great doin’s 
up there. These folks he brought home with him 
wa’n’t like the folks around here. They dressed 
perfectly magnificent, and they was all the time 
ridin’ an’ drivin,’ and dancin’ and some of the 
women was too stuck up to even look at us poor 
common folks. Wal, about six miles from here is 
a place in the woods where most every summer 
some Gypsies camp for a while, but they never 
had done nobody no harm so they wasn’t meddled 
with. Wal, these high an’ mighty folks wanted 
to get their fortunes told, so they all rode out to 
the camp one day, and while they was there, a 
young Gipsy girl fell dead in love with the master 
of the house. She made a perfect fool of herself 
about him, and land sakes! he wouldn’t think of 
lookin at her. 

“You wouldn’t believe that any girl would ever 
follow a man about and worship him the way she 
did. Some folks blamed him and suspected that 
he encouraged her on the sly, but I don’t know, I 
don’t hardly believe he did, though some men are 
mean enough to do most anything. But one rea- 
son why I think he didn’t is because I flirted my 
handkerchief at him one day when he was ridin ^ 
past, and I was a pretty girl then if I do say it, 
for that was nineteen years ago, and he give me 
such a look I never felt so ashamed of myself in 
all my life. So I don’t believe he ever encouraged 


EYA. 


19 


any poor Gypsy girl, fer he acted as if he thought 
a crowned queen wouldn’t be none too good fer 
him. 

“Wall, after a while he got married, and his wife 
was a beauty an’ no mistake and the poor Gipsy 
girl was desperate. Don’t you think, dear, that a 
woman is a big fool to love a man like that, when 
he don’t care no more fer her than he does fer the 
dirt in the road?” 

“I think she is to be pitied,” said Jessamine gent- 
ly, “I cannot think of anything much more pa- 
thetic. We know that she would not be a victim 
to such an infatuation if she could help it, Aunt 
Cindy. We know that such infatuations do exist, 
and they seem to be as uncontrollable as they are 
unaccountable. We should be careful how we 
judge.” 

“I don’t know nothin about what she could 
help or couldn’t,” said Cindy sharply, “but I know 
she was a fool or she wouldn’t allow herself to be 
such a softy. Wal, she almost went crazy, and 
the first summer that he brought his wife and 
baby out here she hung around the place, and 
one night when there was a big thunder storm, 
and his wife was standin’ at the window watch- 
in’ the storm, the Gypsy girl crept up near the 
house and shot an’ killed her. She fell and died 
right where she had been standin’. 

“Of course the help and everybody on the place 
was scart half to death, and in the excitement 
and confusion of attending to the mistress an’ try- 
in’ to bring her to life again, they never thought 


20 


EVA. 


of the bab} r and left it alone a few minutes, and 
the Gypsy girl got into the house an’ stole the 
baby right out of its cradle and carried it off. 

“The next mornin’ they got a letter from the 
Gypsy girl and when the master of the house read 
it he just dropped right down, and the doctors 
called it heart failure, fur that night he was dead. 
So they had a double funeral and buried husband 
and wife side by side in the family tomb. 

“You see that letter is what killed the man, corn- 
in’ as it did right after the other horror, fer in the 
letter she told him that she had killed his wife an’ 
carried off his child, and had just killed it, stran- 
gled it with her own hands, and buried it in the 
woods where he would never find it, and she was 
goin’ to kill herself as soon as she finished the let- 
ter — she had the poison all ready — so he never could 
track her down an’ punish her, and finished by 
askin’ him if he thought it was a safe thing to do 
to scorn a Gypsy’s love. 

“Oh! it was an awful letter! It was enough to 
kill anybody, and the nurse almost died too, when 
she read it. You see the child was a little over a 
year old, and they was all so fond of it that they 
would have felt just awful if it had died at home 
while bein’ surrounded by every care. But then to 
have it took out of its cradle and carried off to 
the woods and strangled — why it was enough to 
make the arch-fiend himself shed tears. 

“Wal, after the funeral and everything was all 
over with, his brother come. They sent for him as 
soon as they thought of it, and he, bein’ in 


EYA. 


21 


Europe, it took him some time to git here, an’ 
when he did come he just told the nurse and her 
husband that if they would move into the little 
house near the western gates and work what land 
they wanted, they might have the use of it free of 
charge till he come again or till they heard from 
him. He was the nearest relative, so the place be- 
longed to him now, and he was so terribly shocked 
and horrified by the awful murders that he said 
he couldn’t bear to stay there a minute longer 
than he had to, so he went back across the sea, and 
left the place in charge of the nurse and her hus- 
band, and they have never heard a word from him 
since. So they live there yet, and work part of 
the land, and they have left the big house just as 
it was. The furniture and curtains and all that 
was there is rotting away except what has been 
stolen and what the nurse moved into the cottage 
for her own use. 

“Most likely more of it would have been stolen 
if anybody had dared to steal in such a place, but 
after it got the name of bein’ haunted, folks give 
it a wide berth. Even the village bo} T s don’t dare 
go there at night, but in the daytime they aint 
afraid.” 

“But in what way is it haunted?” asked Jessa- 
mine. “What have people seen to make them think 
it is haunted?” 

“Wal, they’ve seen lights movin’ about inside the 
house, and a woman’s form all in white standin’ 
in the window where the mistress stood when the 
Gypsy girl shot her, and they say that a big pic- 


22 


EVA. 


ture of her that hangs over one of the fireplaces is 
sometimes all glowin’, all lighted up and shines in 
the dark. Some boys went in there one night and 
was goin’ to make themselves to home, and when 
they come into that room there was that picture 
all shinin’ with a kind of blue light, an’ the rest 
of the room pitch dark. Wal, now, I guess them 
boys got out of there in double quick time, and 
they didn’t want to try that again. Why, I 
wouldn’t go near that place after nightfall fer any- 
thing anybody would offer me, and I don’t believe 
in ghosts neither.” Cindy concluded with her usual 
inconsistency. 

Jessamine smiled. “It must have been a fine 
place in the days of its glory,” she said, “1 should 
like to have seen it as it was then.” 

“Oh, I tell you it was just grand,” replied Cindy, 
her dull eyes kindling into something like en- 
thusiasm. “I was all through there once, and it 
was so big an’ so fine. You can’t git no idea of 
it by just lookin’ at the outside of it. As I told 
Ely when we went to Niagary Falls, you can’t git 
no idea of ’em by just standin’ around an’ lookin’ 
at ’em and Ely says, ‘What would you do, Cindy? 
What would you advise anybody to do to git an 
idea of ’em? Would you have ’em go over the cat- 
aract or down through the whirlpool rapids?’ Ely 
thinks he’s awful smart, but he’s perfectly silly 
sometimes. He knew we couldn’t go down through 
’em.” 

“Thank you very much, Aunt Cind}', for telling 
me the story. It is very interesting, but you did 


EYA. 


23 


not tell me the name of the man who used to be 
master of the place,” said Jessamine. 

“His name was Grayland,” replied Cindy, “and 
he called the place ‘Arcadia.’ It used to have flow- 
ers everywhere, and rustic seats and arbors, and 
the prettiest fountains and little shady nooks and 
corners, and there was a place they called the 
‘Fairy Grotto.’ It was a sort of a cave in the 
high bank by the brook, and he had it all fixed up 
to look beautiful. There was a small fish pond 
that was full of live fish, and a great barn, big 
enough to hold forty horses. 

“There used to be lots of marble statues in the 
grounds, and they was awful expensive, but I don’t 
approve of no naked figures. I like statues well 
enough if they have some kind of a garment made 
on ’em, but these hadn’t, and I think that is 
downright immodest if it is fashionable and costly. 
The nurse and her husband had the statues all 
moved into a room in their cottage, after the boys 
begun to spoil all the pretty places, for fear they 
would break ’em by throwin’ stones at ’em, and 
now everything about the place has gone to rack 
and ruin. You can’t realize what it was in the old 
days.” 

“It has a grand look still,” said Jessamine dream- 
ily. “I know of a family by the name of Gray land. 
I wonder if they are some of the same race. What 
was the baby, a boy or a girl?” 

“It was a girl. The sweetest little angel you 
ever see, with dark blue eyes an’ golden curls, and 
always smilin’ and happy. I never see it but twice, 


24 


EYA. 


and that was when it was out with the nurse. 
Theycalled it “ Evangeline,’ ’ and the nurse — Mrs. 
Prayton — mourns for that baby yet. Some folks 
think she’s a little ‘out’ on account of it. She 
worshipped it, and she talks queer about it yet. 
She has been heard to say that she did not be- 
lieve it was dead, and that it would come back to 
the old home some day. She says she sees its 
mother often in her dreams, and she tells her al- 
ways that the child is living and will come back 
to her. But that is just a crazy notion she has 
got into her head on account of broodin’ over it 
so much. 

“Everybody here in Greendell thinks she’s kind 
of loony because one day when our minister, Rev. 
Mr. Pheelbad, went to call on her, tried to labor 
with her about it for her own good, and told her 
that it was a sin for her to worship the child, and 
that he hadn’t a doubt but what it was taken 
away from her as a punishment to her for not 
worshippin’ God instead, and it made him feel bad 
to see folks lay up treasure on earth, and he 
thought like as not the parents of the child were 
allowed to be killed as a judgment upon ’em fer 
bein’ so rich. Why, Jessamine, that woman was 
so mad she turned Brother Pheelbad out of doors. 
She didn’t say nothin. She just walked to the 
door, opened it and turned and looked at Brother 
Pheelbad with her eyes blazin’ an’ pointed out 
with her finger and the minister went.” 

Jessamine barely suppressed a smile. “Was there 
any doubt about the baby’s death?” she asked. 


EVA. 


25 


“I think it is the most interesting thing I ever 
heard.” 

“Good land! no,” replied Cindy. “The Gypsy 
girl, after her awful crime, went back to the camp 
and went to her tent an’ took the poison just as 
she wrote to him she should, and she died, and 
the Gypsies buried her, and they hadn’t seen no 
sign of the child havin’ been there. So she must 
have done as she said in the letter she did; 
strangled it and buried it somewhere in the woods 
before she went back to the camp. 

“I tell you them Gypsies made themselves scarce 
for a good while after that. It was as much as 
five years before any of ’em dared come there 
again. But you know how such things die down 
after a while. Now they come there every sum- 
mer just as they used to. There wasn’t any proof 
at all against the rest of ’em. I don’t believe 
they had anything to do with it. It was all her 
wicked revengeful doin’s because she couldn’t have 
that man. And what kind of a wife would she 
have been for such a haughty high-toned feller as 
he was? Some women haint got a particle of 
sense. Sometimes I feel ashamed of my own sex,” 
concluded Cindy with a sigh. 

“Don’t you think it strange that the brother — 
the present owner of the place — never comes to do 
anything about it? I should think he would either 
fix it up or sell it. Will it remain in this dilapi- 
dated condition always or until it falls down?” 
asked Jessamine. 

“Wal, you see this Mr. Grayland is not like his 


26 


EYA. 


brother. The one that died was a great man for 
gaiety and society, but this one is what they call 
an Egyptologist. He spends most of his time in 
Egypt, pokin’ around old tombs and mummies, a 
try in’ to read them old hieroglyphics, though 
what anybody can see in them to enjoy is more 
than I know. I would just as soon be buried 
alive, and rather in a good respectable cemetery, 
than be diggin’ into them old tombs, and unwrap- 
pin’ them old mummies, when nobody knows 
what they might have died of. I should be afraid 
of catchin’ some disease.” 

“Is he rich?” asked Jessamine. 

“Oh, my, yes. He don’t know how much he is 
worth, they say. So you see he don’t need this 
place any more than a toad needs a haircomb.” 

“I see,” said Jessamine, and the place may stand 
as it is indefinitely. I believe it is the same fam- 
ily of Graylands who live in our city. They are 
great travelers and seldom come home. I have 
never made their acquaintance, but 1 have always 
heard them highly spoken of. Here comes Uncle 
Ely.” 

Ely Navburn came in humming a popular air. 
He had a June rose in his buttonhole and when 
Cindy saw it she gave a little gasp. Where did 
you git that, Ely?” she asked sharply. 

“A fine looking lady gave it to me,” he answered. 
“Here is your meat;” handing her a brown parcel. 

Cindy’s dull eyes glowed with anger. “I know 
where you got it. You can’t fool me,” she said. 

“I have no desire to ‘fool’ you,” he said, with 


EYA. 


27 


provoking unconcern, .“I got it where everyone 
else in Greendell gets their meat — at the meat- 
market of course. You did not suppose I got it at 
the blacksmith’s, did you, Cindy?” 

”1 mean the rose,” snapped Cindy. “You know 
perfectly well what I mean, Ely Nayburn. You 
are the meanest man I ever see in all my life.” 

“You have told me that so many times, Cindy, 
that I am rather inclined to believe it,” he said, with 
a short laugh. “If I am not yet deserving of the 
title I will do my best to earn it. I will have the 
game if I am to have the name.” 

“If you two keep on quarrelling I shall have to 
be a witness in a divorce case yet,” said Jessa- 
mine, interrupting them. “Don’t you see, Aunt 
Cindy, that it is one of your own roses? One off 
that bush out by the sidewalk.” 

Cindy looked a little mollified at this, but she 
answered with asperity: “I knew it all the time, 
but he had no business to pick it. I want my 
roses on the bushes and I don’t want ’em med- 
dled with.” 

She went into the pantry, and Jessamine, taking 
advantage of her temporary absence, said: “You 
ought not to tease her so, Uncle Ely.” 

“She should not nag me all the time, then, and 
be so suspicious of me every time I am out of her 
sight. I tell you, Jessamine, it gets monotonous. 
Better men than I am have grown tired of per- 
petual faultfinding.” 

Cindy’s reappearance just then put an end to 
their conversation. As they gathered around the 


28 


EYA. 


supper table Ely Nayburn turned to Jessamine with 
a twinkle of mischief in his fine eyes. “When I 
was down to the store tonight I saw Mrs. Lex- 
ington,” he said, “and she told me she wished you 
could go and stay with Cecil tonight, as she and 
Lexington were going to see a sick relative, and 
Cecil would be alone except for the hired help and 
Tom. But” — with a side glance at Cindy — “you 
had better not try to go up there tonight, 
Jessamine, for it looks to me as though a storm 
is brewing, and I would rather you should be here 
in that case.” 

“Don’t pay any ’tention to his weather proph- 
esies,” snapped Cindy, with a look of deep dis- 
gust. “He is the worst old fogy I ever see in all 
my life. You can go just as well as not if you 
want to. Ely Nayburn never thinks but what 
you or anybody else would be perfectly content 
and satisfied with his delightful society forever; 
but I know that young girls like you and Cecil 
like to be in each other’s company. So if you 
would like to go up there tonight, you may go.” 

“Thank you, Aunt Cindy,” said Jessamine, sweet- 
ly, “I would like to go if Uncle Ely did not object, 
but” — she hesitated and glanced toward him ques- 
tioningly. 

“Oh, go if you like, of course,” he said carelessly, 
“but if a storm comes up you will think of what 
I have said.” 

“What if a storm did come up,” cried Cindy, 
turning upon him fiercely, “wouldn’t she be as safe 
there as she would be here in the house with you? 


EYA. 


29 


What would you ever do to save anybody if the 
hull house blew down? You’d save your own 
neck if you saved anybody’s. You’re the biggest 
coward I ever see in all my life, Ely Nayburn.” 

“Thanks,” he replied coolly, “your candor is only 
equalled by your beauty, Cindy.” Then turning to 
Jessamine who had been looking very demurely at 
her plate he said: “There is a stranger in town, to- 
night, and a mighty handsome looking chap he is 
too. He rode up to the hotel, and left his horse, 
and I heard him tell the landlord that he would 
come for it in the morning, so I suppose he is 
stopping with someone in the village, for he cer- 
tainly did not stay at the hotel nor even go in to 
supper.” 

“Do you have any idea who he is or where he 
went?” asked Cindy. “Did you ever see him be- 
fore?” 

“No,” he replied, “I can’t say that I have ever 
seen him before, anywhere, and yet his face was 
kind of familiar. I can’t remember where I have 
seen a face like his, but he is like someone I have 
known. I did not ask him where he was going, 
nor what his business was, nor how long he in- 
tended to stay around Greendell, but I haven’t a 
doubt but that you would, if you had been there, 
Cindy.” 

Cindy’s only reply was a snort of disgust as she 
rose from the table, and Jessamine began her prep- 
arations to depart for the house of her girl friend. 
As she passed her uncle, she placed her fingers on 
his arm, and giving it a little pressure, murmured 


30 


EYA. 


the one word, “ thanks .’ 7 Their eyes met and a 
mischevious smile was exchanged, as he whispered: 
“It is all in knowing how to manage her — her 
contrariness you know.” 

“I know ,’ 7 said Jessamine, “I could not have 
gone up there tonight if it had not been for you . 77 

“What did you say, Ely ? 77 asked Cindy, sus- 
piciously, coming out of the pantry. 

“I said I thought it was going to rain , 77 he re- 
plied, turning a grave face to her as Jessamine 
left the room to get her hat. 


CHAPTER III. 

The Lexington farm was just beyond the border 
of the little village, and the road Jessamine took 
led past the “haunted house.” She glanced curi- 
ously at the place as she passed it, her thoughts 
reverting to the story which she had just heard in 
regard to it. The rosy glow of sunset was fast 
deepening into the violet shades of twilight, and 
the loneliness of the place and something of its 
past grandeur thrilled her heart with a feeling of 
sadness. A fascination she could not account for; 
a yearning to explore the premises took possession 
of her. “Some day I will come here and go through 
the grounds and all over the house from garret to 
cellar if I have to come all alone,” she said to 
herself as she turned and looked back at it, and 
then hurried on her way. 

She found her friend, Cecil Lexington, sitting out 
on the front porch. She rose with an exclamation 
of pleasure and came down the steps to meet her, 
greeting her warmly. 

“I am so glad you could come,” she said, “and 
1 will have Sarah put another bed in my room so 
you can be near me, and we can talk all night if 
we want to.” 


32 


EYA. 


Jessamine expressed herself as though pleased 
with the arrangement. “Only don’t put yourself 
to any trouble on my account, please,” she added 
sweetly. 

“Oh, it is no trouble. I am delighted to think I 
can have you,” answered Cecil, and excusing her- 
self she hurried to the kitchen where the little maid 
of all work was beginning to light the lamps. 
She looked up at Cecil with an expression of dis- 
like and dread in her eyes. Cecil spoke in a low 
sharp tone. “I want you to put up a bed in my 
room for Miss Erlwin, so that she can be with me 
tonight,” she said, “and do it at once so that we 
can retire as soon as we feel inclined.” 

“But I am so tired and the spare room is in 
perfect order,” began the girl with a weary sigh; 
but Cecil cut her short. “I told you I wanted her 
in my room,” she said, haughtily. 

“Then why can’t she sleep with you? Your bed 
is big enough for four,” said the girl. 

“Because millionaire’s daughters are accustomed 
to having a whole bed to themselves,” replied Cecil. 
“I would not think of asking her to share my bed. 
I don’t want to hear any more complaints from 
you. If you can’t put the bed in there alone, then 
call Job to help you. It seems to me that you are 
always tired if there is anything to be done.” 

She went back to her guest, all smiles, leaving the 
girl muttering to herself: “I guess if she had all 
the meals to get in this house, and the beds to 
make and the sweeping and dusting and washing 
and ironing to do, and all the dishes to wash, and 


EYA. 


33 


milk to take care of she would know what it is to 
be tired enough to drop when night comes. I’d 
like to see her obliged to do it for just two weeks.” 

“How sweet it was of you to come tonight when 
you knew I would be alone except for the servants 
and Tom,” said Cecil, re-entering the parlor where 
she had left Jessamine. They drew their chairs out 
upon the porch, where they sat and chatted until 
the maid announced that their room was ready. 

As they rose to go in a boy came bounding up 
the path and flung a string of fish and a rod on 
the steps. “Tom!” cried Cecil, “where are your 
manners? Why don’t you speak to Miss Erlwin?” 

“How do,” said Tom, awkwardly. He was a 
great overgrown boy of fourteen, with a freckled 
face and large hands and feet. He seemed overcome 
with shyness for a moment, then throwing it off 
with a great apparent effort he came up the steps, 
and turning to Cecil said with an air of suppressed 
excitement: 

“What do you suppose I see when I was cornin’ 
home?” 

“I haven’t the least idea,” said Cecil. “What 
did you see; Tom?” 

“I see a feller goin’ into the grounds at the 
haunted house, and I followed him in just to see 
what he was goin’ to do, and as true as you’re 
alive he prowled around till he found that side 
door, and he went in, and I waited and watched 
around till it begun to grow dusk, and he didn’t 
come out, and I didn’t want to stay any longer 
in that place, so I come home. I’ll bet he’s goin’ 
to stay there tonight.” 


34 


EYA. 


“Who was the man?” asked Cecil. 

“I don’t know,” replied Tom. “He aint like any- 
body in Greendell. He was dressed different some- 
how. He is someone from off, for I know everybody 
around here.” 

“Was he young or old?” 

“Young, good lookin’ chap. Guess he’s from the 
city.” 

Cecil turned to Jessamine with a puzzled look, 
and found that young lady’s eyes fixed upon Tom 
with an expression in them of the most intense 
interest. 

• “What could bring a young, fine looking city chap 
to the haunted house?” she said slowly. “It is mys- 
terious isn’t it? What do you think, Jessamine?” 

“It is strange,” answered Jessamine, her eyes 
shining with excitement. “Oh, isn’t it just delight- 
fully mysterious? How I wish,” — she hesitated 
and glanced at Tom, then turned to Cecil, her face 
sparkling with mischief. 

“What!” they both cried breathlessly. 

“That we could play ghost on him tonight. 
Wouldn’t it be fun? I’ve been just dying for an 
adventure ever since I came here, and this is the 
best thing that has happened yet to get some real 
lively fun out of.” 

The last trace of Tom’s shyness vanished at this, 
and stepping closer to Jessamine he said eagerly: 
“But how — where — how would we do it? Do you 
mean to say you would dare to go to the haunted 
house tonight? And how else could we?” 

“That is precisely what I do mean,” interrupted 


EYA. 


35 


Jessamine. “I would as soon go there at night as 
in the daytime. What is there to fear? You do 
not for one moment believe the stories that are 
told about it do you? Then why not?” 

“Let’s go up to my room,” said Cecil catching 
her breath with a gasp of genuine surprise. “We 
can talk there without danger of being overheard.” 1 

Accordingly the three repaired to Cecil’s chamber, 
which had been arranged as she had ordered by 
the maid with the help of Job, the stable boy; and 
once inside and the door closed they prepared to 
discuss the proposal made by Jessamine. 

Tom could hardly believe his own ears. That a 
young, delicate, city-bred girl, who looked so 
dainty and fragile, would propose such an esca- 
pade was astonishing to say the least. His ad- 
miration for her began to rise. He had always 
supposed she was a timid, babyish specimen of 
feminine helplessness, he told Cecil afterward, a 
sort of tenderfooted aristocrat, easily shocked and 
frightened and to hear such a proposition from 
her — well he was “simply paralyzed,” to use his 
own expression. 

“What do you say to it?” asked Jessamine, after 
they were snugly ensconsed in the large bay win- 
dow in Cecil’s room. “Don’t you think it would 
be a great lark?” 

“You really mean it then?” said Tom. “You 
won’t back down?” 

“Of course I mean it. What do you think of it, 
Cecil.” 

“Why I hardly know what you really mean ta 


36 


EYA. 


do. Of course I am ready for anything you and 
Tom may propose, if it isn’t too — too — well — too 
risky. But I don’t much fancy going to the 
haunted house in the dark. Don’t you think it is 
a little bit dangerous?” 

Jessamine rose and motioning them to an eastern 
window, pushed aside the muslin curtain and 
pointed to a large blood-red disc that was just ap- 
pearing above the horizon. “Do you see that?” 
she said. “Do you think it will be dark with that 
great moon? Why it is going to be a glorious 
night. We could not ask for anything better. It 
will be almost as light as day in about two hours.” 

“That certainly makes it better,” said Cecil.” 
“I would rather go there by moonlight than in 
the dark. Well, unfold your plans; you and Tom 
can plan the lark and I will be with you. Now 
tell us what you propose to do.” 

Jessamine unfolded a plan which made Cecil’s 
eyes open wide, and that caused Tom to slap his 
knee and exclaim: “That’s great! And I’ve got 
some of that red fire left that I had last fall at 
election time, and with that and the white dress 
and the phosphorus we’ll make it interesting for 
him. Miss Erlwin you’re a brick. I’ll go around 
the house and look in all the windows and see if 
I can locate him, for we must find out if we can 
what part of the house he is in, and then I will 
come and let you know where to get in so he will 
not see or hear us till the show begins.” 

“What if he should see you prowling about look- 
ing in at the windows?” said Cecil. “He might 
see you first, you know.” 


EYA. 


37 


“Oh, I will look out for that and keep in the 
shadows under the trees, ” said Tom. 

“What if he should have a revolver and shoot 
us?” 

“Well,” said Jessamine, “I will be the ghost and 
so take the chance. If he fired at anyone it would 
be the ghost, you know, and you and Tom can 
manage the red fire and the noise. You will not 
need to be seen, so you Will not run any risk. I 
don’t believe he has any firearms, and if he did 
shoot he would be pretty likely to miss the mark 
in the excitement. I’ll risk that part of it anyhow. 
So that’s .settled. We played ghost at boarding 
school one night, and I never had so much fun be- 
fore in my life.” 

About eleven o’clock three figures stole out at the 
back door of the Lexington farmhouse and paused 
a moment to listen ere the3 r stepped out from un- 
der the shadow of the eaves. A sound of distant 
snoring came clearly to their ears causing Jessa- 
mine to smile and Tom to chuckle, while a look of 
disgust crossed Cecil’s face. 

“That’s Job,” said Tom, “it would take an 
earthquake to wake him up when he once gets to 
sleep.” 

“Yes, one that would shake the stupid pig out 
of bed,” said Cecil, scornfully. 

“Poor fellow, he is probably tired,” said Jessa- 
mine. “But if he sleeps like that we will not fear 
that he will find out that we are not in the house.” 

“You lead the way, Tom,” said Cecil, “have you 
the red fire?” 


38 


EVA. 


“Lots of it,” answered Tom, “and we won’t 
light the lanterns till we get inside the house. I’ve 
got the dark lantern for one. I’ll bet you girls 
will back out yet.” 

“No we will not,” said Jessamine. “Come on.” 

Tom moved off followed by Jessamine, who was 
wrapped in a long dark cloak, which completely 
covered the beautiful white lace dress which Cecil 
had insisted that she should wear. It was a cos- 
tume which Cecil had once worn in a school exhibi- 
tion and was made with a long train. “If you 
are going to be a ghost, be a beautiful one,” she 
said, laughing, as she assisted Jessamine to gath- 
er up the train and don the long cloak. Then 
placing a crown of roses on her dark hair she 
stood off and surveyed her critically. “You’ll do.” 
she said. “Isn’t she perfectly stunning, Tom?” 

“Why don’t 3^ou wrap up in a white sheet and 
let me put some splashes of red paint on it to look 
like blood, and carry a big knife in one hand and 
tuft of hair in the other?” said Tom enthusiastic- 
ally. 

“Oh, this is not going to be a raw-head and 
bloody-bones show,” laughed Jessamine. 

“No, indeed,” said Cecil. “Jessamine is going to 
impersonate the lady who used to live in the 
haunted house. The lady who was murdered, you 
know, Tom. And sheused to dress beautifully and 
she wore white on the night she was killed.” 

“All right,” said Tom. “have your own way. 
But I like a ghost that is a ghost, ghastly, bloody, 
skeleton-like and ail that.” 


EYA. 


39 


Down through the meadow, across a large pas- 
ture, over a brook on a log, and through a field 
•of clover Tom led his two companions. The moon 
was now flooding the earth with its silvery splen- 
dor, making the shadows under the trees darker by 
contrast. An occasional call from some night bird 
and the hooting of an owl in the distant wood 
broke the silence of the night, and the rippling of 
the brook over its stony bed sounded silvery 
sweet on the fresh June air. An odor of pepper- 
mint arose as Jessamine’s long cloak brushed it in 
crossing the stream, and in after years the odor of 
peppermint would bring back vividly to her mem- 
ory this night escapade. 

When they arrived at the entrance to the grounds, 
and saw, looming up before them the great gloomy 
structure, bathed in the softening radiance of the 
moonlight, it looked so solitary and grand, so 
lonely and forsaken that Jessamine felt a thrill of 
sadness come over her which she could not ac- 
count for. Cecil’s feeling was one of dread, a ter- 
rible fear, and Tom’s bravado was a little shaken 
when he came face to face with the dark vine- 
covered walls. 

He halted under a group of trees, and bidding 
the two girls to wait there went forward to re- 
connoitre. Passing around the house he peered 
cautiously in at the windows and soon returned 
to them with the assurance that the “coast was 
clear.” 

“Did you locate him?” asked Cecil, breathlessly. 

“I know what room he is in,” replied Tom. 


40 


EVA. 


“You know the house is so big that two persons 
might walk about in it for some time without 
meeting each other. We can get up the back stairs 
without his seeing or hearing us even if he is awake. 
But I am sure he is asleep, everything was so 
quiet. Come on.” 

Keeping well within the shadows under the trees 
they passed around to the rear of the mansion, 
and stepped upon a small porch. Tom tried the 
door, and finding that it yielded to his efforts 
pushed it slowly open and looked in. He listened 
intently for a moment, then drew back, holding it 
ajar and motioned the two girls to enter. Jessa- 
mine gathered up her draperies and stepped over 
the threshold, Cecil followed, secretly quaking. 
Tom came after them, softly closing the door, and 
they were all inside the haunted house. They 
stood motionless for a few moments, listening to 
their own heart-beats. The darkness was stygian. 
Then Tom whispered: “Are you going to back 
out now? Aint you afraid?’ ’ 

“No,” whispered Jessamine, “lead the way, please. 
You have been in here by daylight. You can guide 
us.” 

Tom groped his way to the foot of the stairs, 
holding Jessamine by her cloak, and began to as- 
cend, and when they had reached the top and 
opened another door a flood of moonlight greeted 
them. It shone in at the great windows, lighting 
up the upper hall so that all the doors to the 
various sleeping apartments were plainly visible. 
Cecil gave a great sigh of relief. “This is better,” 


EYA. 


41 


she whispered, “I did not like that awful dark- 
ness.” 

Tom led the way down this hall, and the two 
girls followed on tiptoe. When he had almost 
reached the end, which was lighted by a great 
arched window, he stopped and opening a door 
motioned them to enter. When they were all in- 
side the room and the door shut he spoke in a low 
tone. “We can light up, now,” he said. “We are 
so far from the room where the man is that he 
can’t hear us if we do speak out loud.” 

He proceeded to light the lanterns he carried and 
when he had attended to that, he bolted the door 
of the room and they prepared to look about them. 

The room was large and had evidently been 
elegantly furnished. A rich carpet, motheaten and 
dusty, covered the floor. The remnants of costly 
draperies still clung about the dressing table 
and bedstead, and a little lace-draped crib still 
stood in the middle of the room. There were three 
large windows looking out upon the front grounds, 
and in one broad window-seat the cushions still 
remained. 

Cecil sank into a chair, and Tom sat down on 
the edge of the dismantled bedstead, pushing aside 
a tattered lace drapery that still hung from the 
upper frame, and Jessamine took one of the lan- 
terns and began walking slowly about the room, 
examining the articles it contained, and even the 
walls came in for their share of inspection. 

“Do you see that over the door?” asked Tom, as 
she passed him in her search. He pointed toward 


42 


EVA. 


the door by which they had entered. Jessamine 
held the lantern above her head and scanned the 
written words, “This is the ghost room.” 

“This must be the room which is preferred by 
the ghost,” said Jessamine smiling faintly. A feel- 
ing of deep sadness was creeping over her, which she 
was striving to throw off. A sense of loneliness 
to which she did not wish to surrender was fast 
taking the place of the spirit of adventure in which 
she had planned this escapade. 

“That middle window was the one where the 
woman stood when she was murdered,” said Tom. 
“If you would go and stand there and hold the 
light over your head, and anybody should see you, 
they would say that the ghost was walking again. 
They could see you from the road just as plain. 
Why don’t you do it?” 

Jessamine set the lantern on the floor as far 
from the window as possible, and drawing her 
cloak about her to hide her white dress she went 
to the window and looked out. The view was a 
fine one. The grounds which lay spread out be- 
fore her were very beautiful still, softened as they 
were by the moon’s mellow light which was too 
pale to show the devastating ravages of time and 
neglect. Everything looked beautiful in the soft 
glow, and as she stood gazing out upon the same 
scene which the mistress of all this viewed on that 
fatal night when she looked her last upon her 
beautiful home, the feeling of sadness which had 
been growing in Jessamine’s heart overcame her 
and she uttered a little sob. 


EVA. 


43 


She had momentarily forgotten the errand upon 
which they had come. Had forgotten that there 
was another than themselves in the house. She 
had become lost in a dreamy reverie of the past, 
and when at last she turned away from the win- 
dow she stumbled against the little crib which she 
had not before noticed. Bending over it she exam- 
ined it with great interest, and as the pathos of 
it all rushed over her the tears began to steal si- 
lently down her cheeks. Not wishing her compan- 
ions to witness her emotion, she took up the 
lantern again, and turning her back to the deso- 
late little crib, began to walk about the room 
again. A paper which was pinned upon the wall 
attracted her attention and holding the light close 
to it she saw that it was part of a leaf from an 
old magazine. It had been torn across and the 
upper part was gone, but a portion of a poem 
remained. Jessamine read these lines aloud. 

4i( Around the dim old mansion, with its walls so grey and 
mossed, 

And over the desolate garden, where the faded leaves are tossed, 
There broods an air of sorrow; a sense of something lost. 

Ala!s for that home’s old brightness. It passeth away with the 
dead. 

Alas for the joys that have vanished, and the pure delights 
that are fled; 

For the tones that memory echoes, and the tender charm they 
shed. 

The house seems sad and silent, but in one lonely room, 

A pictured face is gleaming, like a fair white rose in bloom; 

Like a lovely flower that blossoms to brighten the shade of 
the tomb. 


44 


EVA. 


The smile that lingers o’er it, is sad as the moonlight ray, 

And the picture seems a symbol of the times that have passed 
away; 

A ghost of the past still haunting the ruins of today.’ ” 

There was silence in the room for a few moments 
after she ceased reading, and Tom was the first to 
break it. 

“There is a picture like that down stairs,” he 
said. 

“Oh, I think this is the saddest thing I ever 
saw,” said Jessamine with a catch in her voice. 
“This old ruined home, that little crib; the very 
air seems full of the deepest sorrow. I never felt 
so in any place I was ever in before in my life. I 
feel almost as lonesome as I did after mamma died. 
I can’t tell yon how this place affects me. Don’t 
you feel it, Cecil?” 

“I feel as though I would like to get away from 
here,” said Cecil. 

“Don’t you think we had better give up trying to 
play ghost and go back home?” 

“Play ghost!” said Jessamine, “why, I had for- 
gotten that we came here for that purpose. I was 
so interested in examining this place, and so im- 
pressed by it that it had entirely slipped my mind. 
I could no more play ghost here than I could play 
a comedy in a cemetery, or dance on a grave. It 
would be sacrilege, a desecration to play anything 
here. But I would like to look at that picture and 
then go home. Do you know where it is Tom? 
Can you show me the way to it?” 

Tom who had listened to what she said with a 


EYA. 


45 


feeling of deep disgust and disappointment at the 
thought of being deprived of the anticipated pleas- 
ure of seeing her play ghost, now brightened per- 
ceptibly at this, and began to do some rapid think- 
ing. He knew that the young man who was 
spending the night here was asleep on the old 
couch in the very room where the picture hung. 
He thought he saw a way to carry out the original 
plan in spite of Jessamine’s sudden change of pur- 
pose. 

“Of all fools a sickly sentimental girl is the big- 
gest,” he thought. “A feller never knows when 
they will back out of anything and spoil a whole 
show. If I can get her into that room I’ll have 
the fun of seeing her play ghost after all, whether 
she means to or not. Much I care what she 
wants.” Aloud he said: “The picture is only a few 
steps from here. I can show yon the way, and 
set the light on the stairs so it will strike right on 
it.” 

“Do you want to go and see it, Cecil?” she asked, 
turning to her. 

A sudden fit of shivering had come over Cecil. 
Her teeth chattered in spite of all her efforts at 
self-control. Jessamine looked at her in astonish- 
ment, then came swiftly to her side. “What is the 
matter, dear?” she said anxiously. “Are you cold? 
I thought it was rather warm and close in here. 
Let me put this around you, I do not need it in 
the least.” She took off her cloak and wrapped it 
about Cecil, then taking her hands in her’s she 
found them icy cold. 


46 


EVA. 


“How selfish I have been,” said Jessamine. “We 
will go right away. I had no idea you were cold. 
I am afraid you will be ill, and if you are I will 
never forgive myself.” 

“I am not so cold as you think,” said Cecil 
through her chattering teeth. “I am nervous that 
is all. Go and see the picture and then we will 
leave this awful place. I will sit here and wait for 
you, and Tom can hold the light for you, but I 
have not the slightest desire to see it.” 

“Come on,” said Tom. “We will take one lan- 
tern and leave the other with Cecil, and I will use 
the dark lantern to throw the light on the picture 
with, and I will set off a little of the red fire at the 
head of the stairs just to make plenty of light for 
us all so that Cecil will feel more easy in her mind, 
and she can come out into the hall if she is too 
nervous to stay in here.” 

“But we ought not to keep her here another min- 
ute when she feels so. I can see the picture some 
other time just as well,” said Jessamine. 

“No, no,” said Cecil, “go and look at it; you 
will not be more than three minutes, and I can 
wait that long. You may never be here again so 
you had better see it now for you may never have 
another chance.” 

Tom took the lantern and passed out motioning 
Jessamine to follow. When they were in the hall 
he whispered: “Cecil’s scart half to death, that’s 
what ails her.” 

“I’m so sorry I was so foolish as to plan this,” 
said Jessamine. “It is all my fault. I ought to 
have known better.” 


EVA. 


47 


“It’s all right,” said Tom, as he led her to the 
top of the grand stair-case. “Now,” taking the 
dark-lantern from his coat, “you look right down 
the stairs to the foot, and you will see a large 
archway which is the opening into the room on 
the right, and when I flash the light down there 
you will see a fire-place right on the other side of 
the arch. The picture hangs over the fire-place, sa 
you just go down the stairs and when you get to 
the archway you will see the picture. I will go 
part way down and flash the light on it from the 
middle of the stairs.” 

He drew the slide and sent a shaft of light down 
the dark stairs revealing the archway and just be- 
yond it the dim outlines of a fire-place. 

“I would go all the way down with you, but 
that Cecil would have a fit if we both should go 
down stairs and leave her up here all alone,” he 
said apologetically. 

“Do you think there is any danger of that man 
seeing us? Is he in this part of the house?” she 
asked. 

“No,” replied Tom, lying glibly, “he is ’way 
around in the other wing. He can’t even see the 
light from there.” 

“Don’t light the red fire,” she said, “for that might 
be seen by some one, and the other light will be 
sufficient. If you hold the lantern on the stairs I 
can see well enough.” 

Taking her arm he led her half way down the 
! great staircase, and pausing, turned the ray from 
the dark lantern full upon the pictured face above 


48 


EYA. 


the mantel. “Look,” he whispered, “there it is. I 
can get the best light on it from here.” He set 
the lantern on the stair. 

“Oh yes,” she whispered, “I see it now. This is a 
good light. Just leave it right there, please, and I 
shall be able to see very plainly.” 

She moved on slowly down the stairs with her 
eyes fixed on the portrait, and on reaching the 
floor below, advanced until she stood beneath it, 
gazing up at the beautiful face which seemed to 
smile down upon her. So intent was she upon the 
picture that she did not notice that Tom had 
lighted the red fire until a fiery glow crept over the 
smiling pictured face. Turning, she looked up and 
sa-w Tom at the head of the stairs busily engaged 
in his work, while Cecil leaned over the banister 
watching them both, their forms enveloped in the 
blood-red light which now illuminated the entire 
hall, and if Jessamine could have seen herself she 
would have known that her white lace gown and 
rose-crowned head were also tinged with the car- 
mine glow. 


CHAPTER IV. 


How long Ernest Grayland slept he could not 
have told. The moon had passed beyond the win- 
dows, and the room was in darkness except for a 
faint light which came through the archway, filter- 
ing down the stairway from the windows in the 
upper hall, when he suddenly awoke, and, in 
the gloom of the room was for a moment unable 
to recall where he was or what had happened. 
Then memory returned, and he was about to turn 
over on the couch and go to sleep again when a 
sound of whispering voices dispelled all desire for 
slumber. He was wide awake now and straining 
his ears to detect the direction from which the 
sound came. He could not make out the words, 
the whispers were too indistinct for that, and he 
was about to rise from his couch and investigate 
the meaning of this strange occurrence when a shaft 
of light shot down the stairs, and wavering a 
moment, at last rested directly upon the picture 
above the fire-place. 

“Well, well,” thought Ernest, “I must be about 
to receive a visit from the ghostly tenants of this 
house. This will be a new experience.” He raised 
himself upon his elbow and watched the light with 
intense interest. 


50 


EVA. 


It remained steady at last, resting exactly on the 
face of the portrait. The whispers ceased. Then 
came the sound of soft foot-steps slowly descend- 
ing the stairs and the rustle of trailing skirts, and 
then he saw a beautiful female figure -all in white 
with a crown of roses on her head come slowly 
into view, and descending the last stair, move 
toward the fire-place with her eyes fixed on the 
picture above it. Soon a blood-red glow began to 
penetrate the gloom of the hall and as the waves 
of red light swept over the white robed figure, 
she suddenly turned so that her face was toward 
the silent watcher, and looking backward up the 
stairway made a movement as though to leave by 
the way she had come. 

Acting upon the impulse of the moment Ernest 
Grayland sprang to his feet, and with two or three 
strides placed himself between the fair apparition 
and the lowest stair. “Have I the honor to ad- 
dress the fair spirit who haunts this old mansion?” 
he asked, bowing low before her, while she shrank 
back with a low cr} r which was echoed by a shrill 
scream from above where Cecil — coming out into 
the hall and looking over the railing — had been a 
witness to this denouement. There was a mo- 
ment of thrilling silence after that while Ernest 
glanced upward and saw Tom at the top of the 
stairs and Cecil’s white frightened face just beyond, 
and the dark lantern with its slide open, revealing 
to him the whole business. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I am 
very much pleased to meet such substantial^ 


EYA. 


51 


healthy looking ghosts. This visit is a great 
pleasure I assure you. I was inclined to feel lone- 
some and somewhat dull, and this has given 
me a most delightful entertainment. Won’t you 
all come down with your lights, and assist in mak- 
ing the rooms down here less gloomy? I saw by 
the signboard that this place was haunted, but I 
had no idea that it was by such a pleasant com- 
pany as this.” 

Silence followed his remarks. Complete con- 
sternation had taken possession of the entire three. 
Ernest Grayland was the only one who seemed 
cool and collected. 

Tom had not bargained for any such reception 
as this. He had flattered himself that he was go- 
ing to cause some fear and excitement in the lone- 
ly tenant of this place. He had expected to hear 
him make a hasty exit. He had not counted on 
being beaten at his own game. 

He stood motionless for a few moments, the red 
fire dying gradually down until only the light 
from the lanterns illuminated the scene. Complete 
silence reigned. At last with a quick movement 
and haughty little air Jessamine said with as much 
dignity as she could command under the circum- 
stances: “Will you please allow me to pass?” 

He stepped aside instantly, but she had taken 
only two steps toward the stairs when he put out 
one hand imploringly, and said in the humblest 
manner possible: “Please do not go and leave me 
here alone. You, sir,” addressing Tom, “won’t you 
come down here, or allow me to come up there 


52 


EYA. 


with you? I am not joking. I am really glad to 
meet you all. It is lonesome here, and I am a 
stranger in a strange place. It will be a real kind- 
ness if 3 r ou will stay with me or let me stay with 
you, whichever way is proper.” 

Tom began to recover his self-possession. He 
turned to Cecil and picking up the lantern said: 
“Come on, let’s go down, he looks like a good fel- 
ler.” 

“No, no,” said Cecil, faintly, but Tom took her 
by the arm and began to descend. Jessamine saw 
them coming and waited, her cheeks flushed with 
excitement, her dark eyes glowing. When they 
reached the bottom of the stairs Tom handed one 
lantern to Jessamine and passed on through the 
arch-wav. Mechanically they all followed him. 
Cecil was trembling nervously. 

“Sit down here on this lounge,” said Tom, and 
she obeyed, seating herself on the couch which 
Ernest had just vacated. Jessamine placed herself 
beside Cecil and Tom sat down on the floor. 
Ernest Grayland remained standing, leaning his 
elbow on the mantelpiece. An embarrassing silence 
followed. At last Tom spoke. 

“Well, this is a great go,” he said. “I guess you 
scart us worse than we did you.” 

Ernest laughed a pleased genial laugh, which did 
much to restore Jessamine’s self-possession. “I am 
glad you came, whatever you had planned to do,” 
he said. “I would rather be the victim of almost 
any kind of a prank than to be left alone in such 
a place as this. I was never in this part of the 


EVA. 


53 v 

country before and I do not know a soul in this 
village. That is the reason why I came here to 
spend the night.” 

“Then you did not come here to investigate the 
haunted house just to see if it was haunted?” 
asked Jessamine. 

“No indeed,” was the laughing reply, “I came 
here because my horse was too tired to go on, and 
I had no other place to stay. I never thought of 
investigating ghosts.” 

“But why didn’t you stay at the hotel?” asked 
Tom, bluntly. “Didn’t you know there was one 
here?” 

Cecil opened her lips to rebuke Tom for his fa- 
miliar questioning of this stranger, but before she 
could speak the young man said in reply to Tom’s 
inquiry: “I know there is a hostelry here, and I 
put up my horse there for the night, but I left 
home with very little money, expecting to reach 
my destination and return home tonight, but I 
took the wrong road, lost my way for a time and 
went some miles astray before I discovered my 
mistake, and also had the ill luck to lose what 
little money I had with me excepting the small 
amount necessary for the comfort of my horse. I 
could have telegraphed home for money, but did 
not wish to, for I expect to get home tomorrow, 
so I came to this house because it was unoccupied, 
and I thought it would be a sort of shelter, though 
it is such a warm night I could have slept out of 
doors without much discomfort.” 

While he had been speaking, Jessamine’s 


54 


EYA. 


thoughts had reverted to what her Uncle Ely had 
said about the handsome young stranger whom 
he had seen at the inn. “This must be he,’ ’ she 
thought. Aloud she said: “Did you know that 
this place is shunned by everyone and especially at 
night? Why did you not explain your position to 
someone in the village, and get a more comfortable 
lodging? There are plenty of people in Greendell 
who would be pleased to receive as a guest such 
a” — she came very near saying, such a high bred 
looking man as you. She caught herself just in 
time, and finished her sentence with — “One under 
those circumstances.’ ’ 

“I suppose that would have been a more sensible 
proceeding,” he replied, “but I always had a deep- 
rooted aversion to anything like begging. I 
would rather go without anything than to ask it 
of strangers and feel that they looked upon me as 
a possible, if not probable, impostor. I am foolishly 
sensitive on that point, probably because I have 
seen so many mendicants on the streets of cities 
both at home and abroad.” 

“I live in the city,” said Jessamine, “and can 
readily understand that.” 

“Perhaps we are from the same place,” he said. 
“I am Ernest Grayland. I should have introduced 
myself before.” 

“Oh!” cried Jessamine, joyously, “is it possible? 
W^hv, I have known of you for 3^ears, but never 
happened to meet you. We are almost neighbors,” 
turning to Cecil and Tom, “this is Mr. Ernest 
Grayland whose father has always been such a 


EYA. 


55 


great traveler. Mr. Grayland, this is Miss Lexing- 
ton and Master Tom Lexington.” 

Ernest bowed low and murmured words of 
pleasure at making their acquaintance. “It is not 
at all strange that we have never met before,” he 
said, “for I am also a traveler, and have spent 
most of my time abroad, returning home only at 
rare intervals. I am delighted to meet one of my 
own townspeople in this lonely place. It seems 
brighter here already. I consider myself very for- 
tunate, Miss” — “Erlwin,” said Jessamine, as he 
paused to give her a chance to mention her own 
name. “My father is William Erlwin of St.” 

“I know him well,” said Ernest, “he is one of 
the most prominent men in town. I think every- 
one in the city knows your father, Miss Erlwin.” 

“Well, this is jolly,” said Tom, who had been 
listening with open mouth and wide eyes to these 
disclosures. “It is a jolty good thing we happened 
to come down here, Mr., I guess Jessamine is glad 
now that she played ghost.” 

“Tom!” said Cecil, in a warning voice “Miss 
Erlwin did not play ghost. What are you saying?” 

“I know she backed out, and didn’t mean to,” 
said Tom chuckling, “but she did play it all the 
same.” 

“Miss Erlwin was very anxious to see this house 
inside,” said Cecil, turning to Ernest Grayland 
and speaking in a very impressive manner. “She 
had so often viewed it from the outside and had 
never had an opportunity to inspect the interior, 
we thought we would come tonight because it is 


56 


EYA. 


such bright moonlight, but we had no idea that 
there was anv one here,” — with a warning glance 
at Tom. “That picture over the fire-place she was 
particularly anxious to see, having heard so much 
about it, so we said we would all come and look 
the place through, merely out of curiosity. Of 
course the story that it is haunted is absurd.” 

Cecil glanced at Jessamine with a look of tri- 
umph as she finished this explanation. Triumph 
over Tom and his indiscretion in mentioning their 
original intentions. Jessamine looked the picture 
of innocence, and Tom drew his face into a most 
comical expression, which did not escape the eyes 
of their new-found acquaintance. He had seen too 
much of the world to be easily deceived, and as he 
looked at Jessamine’s white lace gown with its 
long train, the wreath of roses crowning her dark 
hair, Tom’s ludicrous expression of suppressed 
mirth, and thought of the red fire which had 
lighted up the hall and staircase, he drew his own 
conclusions regardless of Cecil’s plausible story and 
dignified air. He kept the expression of his face 
from betraying his thoughts, however, and his 
manner was all that could be desired. 

All the time Cecil had been speaking, Jessamine’s 
thoughts had been busy. She recalled what Ely 
Nayburn had said about the stranger not entering 
the inn, and also what he himself had just said in 
regard to “anything like begging being very dis- 
tasteful to him.” She thought from the appear- 
ance of things that he had probably had no sup- 
per, and that after his long ride on horseback he 


EYA. 


57 


must be ravenously hungry. A feeling of admi- 
ration for this man, who, when he had not money 
enough for both himself and horse, had provided 
that animal with its accustomed oats at such a 
sacrifice to his own personal comfort was upper- 
most in her mind. 

How to provide for his comfort was a question 
which puzzled her, and for a few moments kept 
her silent. She was only a guest herself, and 
therefore had no hospitality of her own to offer. 
Cecil’s parents were away from home, and it 
would hardl}' do to take this stranger to their 
house at midnight, with no one there but the ser- 
vants to play propriety. She felt at a loss what 
to do. They had not intended that this escapade 
should ever be known to anyone but the actors in 
it. If they were to take this young man to the 
Lexington farmhouse, how would they explain his 
presence to Job and the little maid of all work? 
They would be sure to tell of it, and then all the 
village of Greendell would hear of it. On Cecil’s 
account this must never be, and besides, Jessamine’s 
father might hear of it and then — well that would 
be too dreadful. She could not think of anything 
much worse than that. At last a plan occurred 
to her by which it might be managed. 

“I believe I dropped my handkerchief in the hall 
or on the stairs,” she said. “If you, Tom, will please 
come with me and bring a lantern I think I can 
find it. It may be on the floor upstairs.” 

Tom rose quickly, picked up a lantern and pre- 
ceded her up the stairs, leaving Cecil to entertain 


■58 


EYA. 


the stranger during their absence. When they 
reached the upper hall she motioned Tom to come 
into the ghost room, as there would be less dan- 
ger of being overheard, and he wonderingly obeyed, 
something in her mysterious manner arousing his 
curiosity. 

“Do you know,” she said, “that everything goes 
to show that Mr. Grayland has not had any sup- 
per? He must be nearly starved after his long 
ride, and he had only money enough to provide 
for his horse, and has done without anything him- 
self. Do you think you could go up to the house, 
get in quietly, and get my purse out of that dress 
I took off when I put on this one? Could you do 
it without waking up the servants? You know 
it would never do for them to find out anything 
about this night’s performance. And I can loan 
him money enough so that he can go to the hotel 
and make himself comfortable, and continue his 
journey without any more inconvenience either to 
himself or his horse.” 

“I can do that eas} r enough, if you and Cecil 
aint afraid to stay here while I’m gone, but 
what’s the matter of my packin’ up some grub, 
and bringin’ it back with me? And we will eat 
supper together here. I think that would be more 
kind of sociable, and as long as 3^ou know all about 
this feller and his family, what’s the harm?” 

“That will be just the thing,” replied Jessamine, 
with enthusiasm. “You need have no fears of Ern- 
est Grayland. His father is one of the finest men, 
and he belongs to one of the oldest and wealthiest 
families in the city.” 


EVA. 


59 


“That settles it,” said Toni. “I’ll go down the 
back stairs and scoot for home, and when you get 
back down stairs you tell Cecil I’ve gone up to 
the house and will be back in just a few minutes.” 

“You’ll find my purse in the sleeve of my Eton 
jacket,” said Jessamine. “Don’t forget that, please.” 

“Find a purse in an eaten jacket?” said Tom, 
with a grin, “well I don’t see how anybody can 
find anything in a jacket after it’s eaten. 

Jessamine laughed. “I mean that little short 
jacket I wore over my light waist. It is like the 
dress skirt. You know now, don’t you?” 

“Is that why you call it an eaten jacket, because 
it is little and short, kind of knawed off?” 

“That may have had something to do with the 
name,” she replied. “You’ll hurry, won’t you?” 

“I won’t be gone more than fifteen minutes,” he 
declared, and darting toward the back stairs he 
disappeared. 

When Jessamine returned to the room below, 
where Cecil was chatting with their new-found 
guest, the first question after she entered was: 
“Where is Tom? Did } r ou find your handkerchief?” 

Jessamine drew the last named article from her 
sleeve, and held it up. “Tom will be back in a 
few minutes,” she replied. “He went home after 
something in a great hurry. He will not be gone 
long.” 

The time passed rapidly during Tom’s absence, 
for they took the lantern and explored some of the 
rooms, but excepting for a few pieces of dust-laden 
furniture, and moth-eaten draperies they found 


60 


EVA. 


nothing interesting. They were still roaming about 
when the sound of a door slammed shut announced 
Tom’s arrival, and soon he appeared before them 
with a large basket in each hand, which he de- 
posited carefully on the couch, and going into an- 
other room began to haul a table from its long 
accustomed place. 

“Just lend a hand here, somebody,” he called, and 
they all flew to obey. Ernest Grayland picked it 
up bodily and carried it through the doorway. 
“Where do you want it?” he asked. 

“Right here!” cried Tom, “in the middle of this 
room.” 

“What are you going to do, Tom?” asked Cecil. 

“We are goin’ to set the table and have some 
supper,” said Tom joyously. “I’m most starved 
and I brought down two baskets full of grub so 
we could all picnic in the haunted house.” He 
made a dive for the baskets, and taking a cloth 
off the top of one of them proceeded to lay it on 
the table, Cecil and Jessamine joined in the work, 
and while they were all busy Tom watched his 
opportunity and slipped a purse into Jessamine’s 
hand which she hastily thrust inside her dress. 

When the baskets had been emptied of their con- 
tents the repast which was spread upon the table 
was all that could be desired or expected under 
the circumstances, for Tom had helped himself lib- 
erally to the best he could find in pantry and cel- 
lar. They all smiled when they saw the “layout” 
as he called it, and drawing up the couch the two 
girls seated themselves upon that while Tom and 


EYA. 


61 


Ernest possessed themselves of two broken chairs 
which they had found, and drawn up to the festive 
board. 

Cecil had almost recovered her usual spirits in 
the midst of all this novelty and Jessamine felt the 
weight and depression lifted from her heart. Tom 
was in his element and it was quite a merry party 
which gathered about the board to partake of 
cold biscuit and honey, brown bread, cold boiled 
ham, chicken, currant jelly, cake, pie, pickles, and 
cheese, a pitcher of iced milk, cold tea, and to “cap 
the basket,” as Tom expressed it, a bottle of black- 
berry wine. 

“Now, Mr. Grayland,” said Jessamine as they pro- 
ceeded to do justice to the little banquet, “I wish 
to explain to you why things are just as they are. 
You see I am visiting my friends here, and their 
parents have gone away and left us alone with 
their servants, and we planned to visit this old 
house which people say is haunted, and we did 
not intend that anyone should find out about our 
little lark. So you see how we are situated. My 
friends here would have been very glad to have 
invited you to their house if they could have done 
so without our escapade becoming known. But 
you see the servants would be sure to speak of it, 
and then we would be requested to give an account 
of our doings, and that is just what we would 
not like to do. 

“As I was prime mover in the game— in planning 
it I mean— I should have to shoulder all the respon- 
sibility for it, and if my father ever found out 


62 


EVA. 


about this performance he would never allow me 
to go out of his sight again. But I was just dy- 
ing of curiosity to see the inside of this old house, 
and that was why we came. Now I want you to 
take this as a little loan to see you through your 
journey, and you really must take it or I shall 
feel very much hurt.” She held out two five dollar 
bills with an expression of countenance which pre- 
cluded the possibility of refusing her request. 

“Your kindness will never be forgotten, Miss Ed- 
win,” he said, “but you offer me more than I shall 
need. I have only a few miles more to travel be- 
yond this place, and I expect to get home by to- 
morrow afternoon, so you see I shall not need so 
much. I will accept a small loan from you with 
pleasure, but one of these bills will be ample for 
my needs, so I will take one of them and thank 
you very much, and it will also afford me an oppor- 
tunity to call and return it, so it will be the means 
of giving me still further pleasure. Shall you be 
here long?” 

“No,” she replied, coloring slightly, “I expect to 
be back in the city inside of a month at least.” 

“Then I will call if I may, and you may rest as- 
sured that no word of tonight’s meeting will ever 
pass my lips to other than you three, who have 
contributed so much to my comfort and enjoyment. 

I wish to thank Miss Lexington and Master Tom 
for all their kindness. This night will be treasured 
in my memory as one of the pleasantest experi- 
ences of my life.” 

“Wall, you aint the only one that’s enjoyed it,’^ 


EYA. 


6 $ 

said Tom, “fer I’ve had a crackin’ good time. I 
like to git into a scrape once in a while; it does a 
feller good ; livens him np and makes him feel as if 
he was somebody.” 

They all laughed and arose from the table. The 
girls put the cloth and napkins and dishes back 
in the baskets, while Tom, with a triumphant air, 
produced some cigars and offered them to Ernest. 
“I know pa always likes to smoke after dinner,” 
he said, “so I brought along some of his.” 

“Thank you, I don’t care if I do,” said Ernest, 
accepting one. “You must come up to the city and 
make me a visit, so I can do something to make 
it pleasant for you. Will you?” 

“Oh, I’d like to,” replied Tom, “if it wasn’t fer 
meetin’ so many swells. How would I look ’side 
of them? You’d be ashamed of me. I haint got 
no manners.” 

“Not I,” said Ernest. “You come right along 
and never mind the swells, and we will have a 
good time, I promise you.” 

“Alright,” said Tom, “I’ll do it. Now if we 
could only see a ghost I’d feel as if this hull busi- 
ness had been done up right and proper, as it is I 
feel as if that’s all that’s lackin’. ” 

His speech at this point was cut short by a 
blinding flash as of lightning, followed by a crash 
of thunder over their heads, which was deafening. 
They looked at each other in astonishment. Every 
face in the little party expressed amazement at 
this most unexpected thing. Ernest stepped to a 
window and looked up at the heavens. The moon. 


64 


EVA. 


was riding high in a sky in which there was not a 
cloud to be seen. The portion of the grounds vis- 
ible from that point were flooded with the silvery # 
light. He turned to his companions and opened 
his lips to speak, when he was interrupted by the 
sound of a shot, followed by a cry so shrill, mourn- 
ful and filled with agony that it chilled the blood 
in their veins. There was the sound of a falling 
body somewhere over their heads, then the patter 
of swiftly running feet, a sobbing voice crying, 
‘‘Oh! she’s killed,” then came another flash, a sec- 
ond peal of thunder and all was still. 

Our little party stood silently gazing at each 
other. Tom’s face expressed blank amazement; 
Jessamine’s unbounded astonishment not unmixed 
with curiosity. Ernest Grayland looked as though 
he had received a revelation. Cecil’s face was ghast- 
ly, and her form trembled and shook so that she could 
hardly stand. The first movement made by any 
of the party was when Jessamine stepped to her 
side, and passing her arm about her, supported her 
trembling form to the couch and seated her upon 
it. Then turning to Ernest she said in an awed 
whisper: “What do you think of it? What is it?” 

“I think I will go and find out if I can,” he re- 
plied, and started to put his resolve into execution, 
when a white, trembling hand was extended to- 
ward him, and Cecil gasped out between her chat- 
tering teeth: “Don’t go and leave us alone in this 
room. If you do I shall die.” 

“Let us get you out into the air,” said Jessa- 
mine, alarmed lest Cecil should faint, and taking 


EYA. 


65 


her by the arm, with the assistance of Tom and 
Ernest, they succeeded in getting her out into the 
grounds. “Not under the trees,” she whispered. 
“I don’t want to stop here. Let us get out of 
these grounds and into the meadow where it is 
lighter. I shall be all right there.” 

They kept on until they reached the brook, and 
Cecil dropped down on the end of the log that 
spanned it. They were beyond the trees now, and 
out of the shadows and she soon declared that 
she felt better. “I will rest here a few minutes,” 
she said, “and then I shall be able to go home.” 

“Don’t you think I had better go back now and 
investigate the cause of the disturbance and get 
the baskets and your cloaks?” asked Ernest. 

“If you want to go back into that place, we 
will wait here for you,” said Cecil, “but you need 
not go on account of the things. I wouldn’t gcf 
back in there for a gold mine.” 

“Oh, I shall be better satisfied to go and see 
wdiat I can find,” he replied. “Tom can stay here 
with you and I will not be gone long. You will 
be all right if he is with you, will you not?” 

“Yes,” said Cecil, “I feel better already. We will 
wait here.” 

They watched him stride away until he was 
swallowed up in the shadows, and after what 
seemed like an hour but was really only about fif- 
teen minutes he appeared with the baskets in his 
hands, and the cloaks over his arm. There was a 
puzzled look in his handsome eyes as they greeted 
him with a storm of eager questions as to what 


66 


EVA. 


he saw, what he did, etc., but he replied that he 
had been upstairs and searched every room except- 
ing one that was locked and had looked in every 
nook and corner by the light of the lanterns, but 
he had failed to find one clue to the extraordinary 
occurrence. He declared that he was never so 
puzzled to account for anything in his life, and he 
had traveled a great deal and had many strnnge 
experiences, but nothing like this. 

They w r alked on slowly talking in low tones of 
the mystery until they were near the Lexington 
farmhouse when the guest of the evening said: “I 
will bid you good night here as you are so near 
your own door, and I want you to know how 
much you have contributed to my comfort and 
pleasure tonight, and I hope to meet you all again, 
and will not be satisfied until I do. Miss Erl win, 
I am under deep obligations to you for your kind- 
ness in extending me this loan, and I will call and 
return it as soon as you get back to the city. 
You may all trust me never to mention this night’s 
strange meeting and experience, and I will say 
good night, but not good bye, for we shall meet 
again.” 

They shook his hand warmly and he exacted a 
promise from Tom that he would visit him in his 
city home. 

They watched him as long as they could see his 
figure in the moonlight, as he strode swiftly away, 
and then turned all their attention toward getting 
into the house without awakening the servants. 
In this they were successful, and soon were in their 


EYA. 


67 


sleeping apartments and snngly in bed, with no 
one the wiser for this escapade which had ended 
so mysteriously. 


CHAPTER V. 

The Gypsy camp presented a picturesque appear- 
ance when Ernest Grayland, mounted upon his 
beautiful Rocket, rode up to it on the morning fol- 
lowing, and as the Gypsies came out and gathered 
about him he asked if they had a sick man among 
them by the name of Harnley. They immediately 
answered in the affirmative and half a dozen 
offered to show him the way to him, when one 
man, older than all the rest, intercepted them. “A 
word with you, sir,” he said respectfully, “before 
you go to him. I want to say that Nat Harnley 
is dying slowly but surely with consumption, but 
you don’t want to let on to him that you think 
it is consumption that ails him, or he will get into 
a temper and spoil your visit. He is lookin’ fer 
you and has been frettin’ to see you, ’cause he says 
he’s got somethin’ to tell you afore he croaks with 
his indigestion and heart disease; but it aint con- 
sumption, and he don’t want to hear anyone say 
it is, you understand?” 

“I understand perfectly,” replied Ernest. “I have 
known such cases before. Some are very irritable, 
and easily angered at anyone who insinuates that 


EYA. 


69 


they are afflicted with that disease. It seems to 
be a part of it.” 

“Exactly,” replied the man. “And you might 
tell him that he don’t look so awful bad; that you 
was expectin’ to see him lookin’ worse, and all 
that.” 

“I see, and will do as you suggest.” 

“That’s a mighty fine horse of yourn. You 
wouldn’t sell him, I don’t suppose?” 

“Oh, Rocket and I are old friends, sort of old 
chums, you know. I couldn’t part with him very 
well.” 

They had nearly reached the tent when they 
were confronted by an old woman who extended 
her withered hand and grasped at Ernest’s sleeve. 
“Let me tell your fortune,” she said in a coaxing 
voice. “You are such a fine lad there must be good 
times in store for you.” 

Ernest had changed his five dollar bill when he 
took his horse from the inn, and now, bowing 
with as much politeness to the old crone as he 
would have to anyone, he dropped a dollar into 
her outstretched hand. “You may when I come 
back,” he said, “but now I am in a hurry to see 
the sick man.” 

As he passed on she stood looking after him, 
muttering to herself, “A mighty fine lookin’ boy, 
and a civil spoken one. A lad who belongs to the 
high class. A fine gentleman, and good and true, 
and that’s more’n you can say of some of em.” 

When Ernest entered the tent preceded by his 
guide, he was somewhat prepared for the sight 


70 


EVA. 


which met his eyes. On a low but comfortable bed 
a man was reclining, propped up by cushions, and 
one look at his ghastly countenance told him that 
this was the man whom he had come to see. The 
Gypsy, with awkward courtesy, introduced him af- 
ter a fashion and Ernest seated himself in the chair 
which was placed for him. Then saying that he 
would go and take another look at Ernest’s horse, 
he departed, leaving them alone together. 

“I suppose you are wondering what I sent for 
you to come here in this way for,” began the sick 
man in a husky voice. 

“Of course, I wondered what you had to tell me,” 
replied Ernest, “for I do not remember ever having 
met you in any of my travels, so, of course, I could 
not imagine what it could be; but it is all right 
and I could come as well as not, so here I am. 

“I shall have to tell my story in as few words 
as possible,” said the man, “for talking makes me 
cough. Ever since I have been troubled with this 
indigestion ]. have had this cough. It all comes 
from my stomach, and my heart is weak, and I 
can’t live long now I know. A man can’t live 
when his stomach and heart, are worn out can he?” 

“Certainly not, but you don’t look as bad as I 
expected to find you, from what you wrote to me. 
Perhaps you may find something that will help 
your case yet. While there is life there is hope, you 
know.” 

“There is no hope for me. I’ve known for quite 
a while. . But I didn’t want to tell my story while 
I was well enough to be arrested and sent to jail. 


EYA. 


71 


Now, I guess anybody would hesitate some about 
movin’ me to jail.” 

“Is it then so bad as that?” 

“It is just as bad as that. Did you come through 
Greendell?” 

“I did, and stopped in that place last night.” 

“Did you come past an old deserted house? A 
great big house with a board at the gate with the 
word ‘haunted’ on it in big letters?” 

“I saw the very place, and stopped and looked 
at it.” 

“Do you know that your father owns that es- 
tate?” 

“My father?” No!” cried Ernest in astonish- 
ment. “Do you know what you are saying?” 

“Perfectly,” said the man with a grim smile. 
“Your name is Grayland, is it not?” 

“My name is Ernest Grayland.” 

“Named after your uncle, your father’s brother 
who used to live there. Haven’t you ever heard 
the story of your uncle’s death, and the murder 
of his wife and child? Did your father never tell 
you anything about the tragedy that happened in 
the old haunted house? The crime that completely 
wiped out your uncle’s little family?” 

“No, he never mentioned it to me; but my father 
is peculiar, and spends most of his time in Egypt 
in study and research, and he never tells me any- 
thing about my relatives, anyway. He is a good 
old dad, and never tells anyone anything that he 
thinks could worry them. I never heard a word 
of this before. You see I have been traveling a 


72 


EYA. 


good share of the time, and I never happened to 
hear of it. How long ago did it happen? 

“About fourteen years or thereabouts.” 

“You see I was only a youngster then. I am 
twenty-two now.” 

“A boy of eight years. No, your father probably 
would not tell you then the particulars of your 
uncle’s death. But I should have thought he 
would have told you after you were old enough 
to understand all about it.” 

“Well, he never has, that’s sure. And are you 
going to tell me?” 

“That’s just what I sent for you to come here 
for. I had more to do with it than anyone knew. 
Just hand me that water, please, talking makes me 
cough.” 

Ernest handed him the drink he asked for, and 
waited for him to recover from the fit of coughing 
that seemed to rend him almost in twain. At last 
it was over and he lay gasping with exhaustion 
for a few moments. At last he revived somewhat 
and turned his eyes again upon Ernest. 

“There was a G} r psy girl who belonged to a tribe 
that used to camp here in this very place, and she 
saw your uncle when he was a young man and 
fell in love with him. He used to come out here 
summers with a gay party of swells, and they 
used to make merry in the old place that is now 
known as the ‘haunted house.’ It was a grand 
place then, and he called it by another name I can’t 
just remember; but they used to come out here 
to the camp to get their fortunes told, and that 


EYA. 


73 


is probably where she first met him. Anyway it 
was a clear case of the wildest infatuation on her 
part. She went kind of crazy about him, I think, 
for I don’t believe the man noticed her any more 
than he did the other Gypsies. He was too proud 
to pay attentions to such as she, but she followed 
him about like a dog wherever she could. 

“A year or two after that he married a woman 
of his own class, a high-bred beauty, a grand, 
queenly looking woman. They say her picture 
hangs in the old house yet. Well, when this girl 
heard that he was married I thought she would 
go wild. You see I was in the same tribe and I 
was sweet on the girl myself and it nearly drove 
me frantic to see her go on so about him. I 
wanted her to marry me but she wouldn’t, and I 
was young and foolish, and thought I wanted her 
more than I did anything else on earth. After a 
couple of years had gone by, your uncle and his 
wife came out here again for a few weeks one 
summer and brought their little one, which was 
about a year old I should think, and that aroused 
the Gypsy girl to a new frenzy. The sight of them 
so happy in their little paradise, and so satisfied 
with each other just drove her mad you may say. 

“One night she came to my tent and called me 
out, and asked me to come into the woods, for 
she had something to say to me. I went with 
her, noticing that she had a bundle in her arms. 
When we had gone far enough so we would not 
be overheard, she turned to me and said: ‘Nat, I 
I want you to do something for me tonight that 


74 


EYA. 


will test vour love, and if you will I will marry 
you tomorrow, if you wish.’ 

“How I thrilled all over at those words from 
her. I can feel it yet, though all these years have 
passed. ‘I’ll do anything for you, Nell,’ I said. 
‘There isn’t a thing on earth you could ask of me 
I would not do to win you for my own.’ ‘Then,’ 
she said, ‘take this child and find a home for it to- 
night, and say nothing about it to the rest of our 
people, for they have not seen it. Take it away 
from here to some place where I am not known. 
If you will do this for me I am yours whenever 
you say.’ She laid the bundle in my arms and I 
started so that I nearly dropped it. ‘Is it yours?’ 
I asked her roughty, for I was nearly wild for a 
moment with jealousy. She laughed a sad, dreary 
laugh. I can hear it now. ‘Dear old Nat,’ she said, 
‘of course it is not mine. It belongs to a friend of 
mine I am trying to help, a dear friend, Nat, and 
I can’t trust anyone with it but you.’ She raised 
herself on her tiptoes and put her arm about my 
neck and touched my face with her lips, and I 
think I would have gone through fire for her then. 

“‘You’ll take it away from here and find it a 
home with someone, won’t you? And go quickly 
before anyone sees it or it wakes up and cries. 
You stand here and I’ll bring your horse and you 
can mount right here.’ She slipped away and left 
me standing there with the sleeping babe in my 
arms, and a hundred emotions chasing each other 
through my heart. She soon returned leading my 
horse and bade me be off before an} T one should see 
us. 


EYA. 


75 


‘“But this has taken me so bj surprise, I don’t 
know what to do,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what 
to do with this kid. Whose is it, anyway?’ ‘I 
can’t tell you, Nat, for it is my friend’s secret, not 
my own. You can do this much for me if you love 
me, I know.’ ‘But where will I go with it?’ I said. 
‘I haven’t any place to put this baby, unless I put 
it in an orphan asylum.’ ‘Take it where you will,’ 
she said, ‘and hark! Someone is coming this way. 
Go quickly! Good bye, dear Nat, good bye.’ 

“I mounted my horse and rode through the 
forest for miles. I think she must have drugged 
the child, for I never knew one of that age to keep 
quiet so long. I knew not where to go nor what 
to do with it. At last I thought of a woman in 
a small village not very far distant who was as 
much in love with me as I was with Nell. I 
decided to take the child to her and ask her to 
keep it for a while anyway, and I turned my horse 
in that direction. 

“It was daylight when I knocked at her door. 
She looked astonished at seeing me at that early 
hour, but she looked still more astonished when I 
stated my business. I asked her to keep the child 
for a time until I could make some arrangements 
for its permanent home. She flared up and asked 
me if it was mine, much as I had flared up about 
it to Nell. I assured her that it was not. That 
it belonged to a friend of mine who was in trouble. 
She would not believe me at first, but after I took 
the shawl from around it and showed her its 
angelic beauty, she agreed that it did not resemble 


76 


EYA. 


me to any extent. It was a perfect little beauty 
and no mistake. Golden hair, dark blue eyes, a 
perfect little face, and the finest clothes I ever saw 
on a kid. A little diamond finger ring and jeweled 
pin that it wore convinced the woman that it was 
none of mine. She never would have taken it if 
she hadn’t been sweet on me, and she thought it 
would give her a hold on me. But she finally con- 
sented, and I gave her ten dollars and told her I 
I would bring or send her more as soon as I could. 

‘‘Glad to get that off my hands, I hastened back 
to camp, to find that Nell was dead; had poisoned 
herself, and the tribe were wild with excitement 
over the crime she had committed. She had shot 
and killed your uncle’s wife before she came to me 
with the child, and she had stolen the child, your 
little cousin, and had written a letter to your 
uncle, saying that she had killed his wife and car- 
ried off and strangled his child for revenge. That 
she had buried it in the woods where no one 
could find it, and that by the time he received her 
letter she should be dead and beyond his power to 
punish. The shock killed the man, and I don’t 
wonder at it much. 

“The camp broke up and scattered and my feel- 
ings can be imagined. When I began to compre- 
hend it all, I could see what a fool she had made 
of me. She had used me for a tool to help her 
with her dirty work. She had committed this 
murder out of revenge, an insane jealousy being 
the motive power. She had stolen this child and 
then, when it came to taking its little throat in 


EYA. 


77 


her hands and strangling it, her nerve failed her. 
She could have easily put the baby to death if she 
had chosen, but for some reason she did not, but 
had used me instead to get it off her hands before 
she died. I know I ought to have made a full con- 
fession of what I knew about the child and I 
should have done so immediately if the abduction 
of the child had been all that Nell had been guilty 
of, but the murder of your uncle’s wife, followed 
so soon after by your uncle’s death, took all the 
courage out of me. I was afraid to speak for fear 
of being held as an accomplice. Gypsies were not 
thought any too much of anyway. They were 
always viewed with more or less suspicion even 
when they w r ere innocent, and I dared not tell 
what I knew for fear of the consequences to my- 
self. 

“Of course the longer I kept silent the more 
impossible it became to make known my part in 
that night’s work, so I never told anyone until 
this hour that the child of Ernest Grayland and 
his murdered wife is alive for anything I know to 
the contrary, and is somewhere in the world today. 
Your cousin, Evangeline Grayland, if living, is 
about fifteen years of age, and I hope you will 
find her and see justice done in restoring her to 
her rightful place.” Tie ceased speaking and closed 
his eyes for a moment as though exhausted. 

“This is a wonderful story,” said Ernest. “I can 
hardly realise it all. You say this Gypsy girl shot 
and killed my uncle’s wife, and carried off the 
child, but I don’t understand about his death. 
Did she kill him, too?” 


78 


EVA. 


“The shock was what killed him, I expect. Your 
uncle’s wife was standing at a window in her own 
apartments, looking out upon the front grounds, 
and the Gypsj girl stood beneath the trees among 
the shadows, for it was a moonlight night, and 
she shot her where she stood. She screamed and 
fell, and in the excitement which naturally followed, 
Nell managed to get into the house and make off 
with the child. When your uncle realised that his 
wife was past all help he sank to the floor and in 
a few hours he was dead. The doctors said his 
heart was weak and that the shock was too great 
for him. Strange, isn’t it, that men that love 
their wives so much are almost sure to lose them, 
while some man who would be glad to be rid of 
his wife, and would hail her death with pleasure 
as a relief from bondage, will be obliged to ap- 
ply to the divorce court, or else endure her obnox- 
ious presence all his life?” 

Ernest smiled at the man’s blunt way of expres- 
sing himself, but he nodded thoughtfully and said, 
“Then if my cousin Evangeline is living, it is clearly 
my duty to find her and restore her to her proper 
place in the world, and to her own home and for- 
tune. Can you give me any directions as to how 
to find her?” 

“I have not the most remote idea where she is 
now,” answered the man. “I lost all trace of her 
after the first year. I gave Fannie Dumond (that 
was the name of the woman I left her with) ten 
dollars when I left there on that fateful morning, 
and I sent her ten more in about a month after, 


EVA. 


79 


and wrote her a letter telling her to come to the 
city and get rooms in a certain locality, and I 
never sent her any more money or letters. I did 
not go back to her for fear of troublesome questions 
being asked me, so I lost track of them, and I don’t 
know whether Fannie kept the child after the 
money played out or whether she cast her off. 
She might have put her in an orphan asylum. 
She did not know whose child she was, and 
whether she heard anything about the murder or 
not, I cannot say. She might not have thought 
to associate this child with it if she had. I told 
her it belonged to a friend of mine, so she probably 
would not think of such a thing, for you know 
the Gypsy girl Nell had stated in her letter that 
she had not only murdered your uncle’s wife but 
she had also strangled the child and buried it in 
the woods, so you see no one dreamed that it was 
not dead as she stated. If I hadn’t been too much 
of a coward to tell what I knew, the baby might 
have been brought home, but I thought that it 
was risking too much to put myself in the clutches 
of the law, for I was only a poor nobody, and 
these people who had been so foully dealt with, 
were rich and powerful and belonged with the 
highest in the land. 

“I should think you would condemn me for not 
braving it out and returning the child. You don’t 
express any opinion. Why don’t you preach a 
little? You are not like most of your class if you 
don’t tell others what they ought to do.” 

There was a note of irritation in his voice which 


80 


EYA. 


Ernest was quick to observe, and he was about to 
speak when the man continued. “Mebby you have 
got such great contempt for me that you can’t 
say anything that you think severe enough. Or is 
it that you think I am too sick, too near death 
to be spoken harshly to? I would as soon anyone 
would curse me as pity me, and I don’t know but 
rather. I never could bear to be pitied. If you’ve 
got any opinion to express you needn’t let my 
condition make any difference. If you think I was 
a cowardly dog, say so, and don’t mince the mat- 
ter.” 

“I never was much given to judging other per- 
son’s actions,” replied Ernest gravely. “I was 
silent only because I was thinking intently of what 
you were saying. I was putting myself in your 
place as I have a habit of doing when I hear a 
story of this kind. 1 have knocked about the 
world and seen too much of human nature to be 
very quick to judge a man. I always put myself 
in his place first and try to think what I would 
have done, and how I would have felt under the 
very same circumstances. If every one did that I 
don’t think they would be so quick to condemn in 
a great many cases. I can see just how you were 
situated. You were among the Gypsies at the 
time this happened, and as you say, they are re- 
garded with a certain amount of suspicion by a 
certain class. You took into consideration the 
position of the wronged parties as compared with 
your own, and you thought that with all their 
wealth to aid them and public sympathy entirely 


EYA. 


81 


on their side, that conviction would surely follow 
prosecution. Is that not so?” 

‘‘That’s it to a dot,” exclaimed the man. 
“You’ve put it in better shape than I could my- 
self.” 

“Well then,” continued Ernest, “if I had been 
placed in your position I might have done just as 
you did. This life is full of mistakes and if we 
could look into the future we might know how to 
live better, but as the Creator has veiled the future 
from us I don’t see how we can do otherwise than 
to err in a great many ways. The chances are if 
you had confessed your part in the events of that 
fatal night you would be just about finishing out 
your sentence in prison by this time. The law 
would demand that someone be punished for the 
terrible affair, and as the girl was dead and there- 
fore beyond its reach, you would have come next 
as the victim of public indignation, and notwith- 
standing what religious people tell us of the tri- 
umph of innocence, and of God’s tempering the 
wind to the shorn lamb, we know it is false and 
that innocence suffers in this world fully as much 
as guilt, and I think rather more. A lamb would 
come to grief nine times out of ten, where a wolf 
would come out unharmed. Anyone with a grain 
of sense ought to know that from observation. 

“And yet, if you could have known what kind of 
a man my father is, you might have gone to him 
and told him your story without fear, for so far 
as he was concerned you would never have been 
persecuted for your part in that night’s work. My 


82 


EVA. 


father would have believed you, I am sure. But 
the people take up a thing like that, you know, 
and my father could not protect you from their 
vengeance and you might have been involved in 
no end of difficulty about it. It is always easy to 
see mistakes after it is too late to remedy them, 
but there are more persons who would have done 
as you did, than there are who would have come 
forward and risked their safety by a confession.’ ’ 

“Now you’re talking sense,” said the man, his 
eyes kindling with satisfaction. “I like to hear a 
man talk common sense. Religious twaddle makes 
me sick. What reason have we miserable wretches 
here on this earth to think that there is a God 
who cares what happens to us. We are like a lot 
of flies. We fall into the water or get into the fire 
and drown or burn or break our bones, we scorch 
or freeze, starve or die of thirst, and when is there 
ever a Divine Hand outstretched to save even the 
most tender and innocent? Christians will tell you 
to pray and if you ask you shall receive, that if 
you only have faith you can move mountains, but 
we know it is a lie, and the missionaries that go 
to heathen lands to make converts to their own 
God they put so much faith in, are murdered in 
the most horrible ways that can be devised. While 
they arp on their knees praying for His help and 
succor, the savages come along and cut their heads 
off. If one or two manage by their own shrewd- 
ness or efforts, to escape, they begin to thank God 
as soon as they reach a place of safety, and con- 
gratulate themselves that the Divine Hand was; 


EYA. 


83 


extended to them to assist them and has allowed 
their companions to perish. 

“Why should they flatter themselves that they 
were any more worthy of God’s help than the oth- 
ers who perished? I tell you they are a selfish, 
narrow-minded lot, and they don’t show horse- 
sense about the things pertaining to life in this 
world.” 

“There is much truth in what you say,” replied 
Ernest, “but you should at least give them the 
credit of trying to benefit their fellow-men as they 
see it. They make many sacrifices of their own 
personal comfort in order to go to strange lands 
as teachers of these savages.” 

“There is a selfish motive underlying that also,” 
said the man. “They do it either for the glory of 
it in this world, or with the hope of a higher re- 
ward in the hereafter. I tell you I don’t believe 
there is one of them who would sacrifice their com- 
fort for one of those savages if it was only to 
benefit the savage alone; if they did not expect to be 
the gainer in some way themselves, either in this 
world or the next.” 

Ernest smiled and a mischievous light shone in 
his eyes. “You think that the missionary makes a 
tool of the heathen with which to carve a few 
steps higher on the ladder to reward, or in other 
words, uses him as a cat’s-paw with which to pull 
his chestnuts from the fire. You think that all the 
missionary cares about the heathen is to make his 
conversion the work which is to bring honor and 
glory among men and a higher place in heaven for 
the missionary himself.” 


84 


EYA. 


“That is it exactly,” replied the man. “They 
don’t really care any more about the heathen than 
the sculptor does for his chisel. It is a necessary 
tool, that is all. Pie can not do without it the 
work which is to make him famous.” 

“That is being done all the time in every walk 
in life, more or less,” said Ernest. “That Gypsy 
girl used you for her own selfish purpose, when 
she put upon you the disposal of that child. She 
worked upon your love for her to carry out her 
purpose, regardless of what might be the conse- 
quences to you. And you in your turn served the 
girl Fannie in precisely the same manner.” 

“I don’t deny it,” said the man, “but I don’t 
profess any religion. I don’t believe in the Chris- 
tian’s God. I was talking about the inconsistency 
of their professions. I don’t profess anything in 
the line of goodness. That makes a difference. I 
don’t claim to be working for anybody’s welfare 
but my own. And I am not conceited enough to 
think that a special Providence is going to inter- 
pose in my behalf.” 

“I agree with much you say,” declared Ernest, 
“but I have not lost all confidence in humanity. 
I know that selfishness rules the world in general, 
but I know there are exceptions, for I have occa- 
sionally come across persons whom I thought did 
things for their fellow-creatures for the sole pur- 
pose of making them happy, with no thought of 
reward for themselves, but it is rather the excep- 
tion than the rule especially where any sacrifice of 
comfort is required. But so far as special interpo- 


EYA. 


85 


sitions of Providence are concerned, I fully agree 
with you. I do not believe in a God who would 
show such partiality as that. This world is so 
full of misery, wrongs and strife that to believe in 
that would be perfectly absurd to my ^mind.” 

“This world is a place where everything seems 
to work at cross purposes instead of in harmony,” 
said the man. “That Gypsy girl I loved so de- 
votedly did not love me. She loved a man who 
did not love her, and the woman, Fannie, loved 
me but I did not care two straws for her. And so 
it goes. A man will love some other man’s wife, 
and a woman will prefer some other woman’s 
husband. What we want most is generally some- 
thing we can’t get, and if we do succeed in getting 
it we soon tire of it and want something which is 
still beyond our reach. And although that trait 
is born in the human heart and is a part of the 
natural law just as much as it is to draw their 
breath, the very human family in which the trait 
is characteristic are constantly punishing each other 
for acting it out.” 

“Yes, that is true as truth itself,” said Ernest re- 
flectively. “And how they are going to be changed 
for the better is beyond my comprehension.” 

“I am glad to have met a man of your stamp,” 
said Harnley. “I expected a storm of reproaches 
for my error, and to find a man like you is a 
pleasant surprise. I wish I could tell you where 
to look for your cousin Evangeline, but I cannot 
direct you in the least. Will restoring her to her 
rightful position affect you any financially?” 


86 


EYA. 


“If it did it would not make the slightest differ- 
ence. My father has enough for us both. I shall 
search for her in every way I can. What sort of 
woman was this Fannie Dumond?” 

“She was a good girl in those days; a warm- 
hearted, kindly woman, not thirty years old quite, 
I think. She had been married more than once. 
Three times I think, but she was a widow at the 
time she took the child.’ ’ 

He then proceeded to give Ernest all the infor- 
mation he could, as to her life and place of resi- 
dence at the time of his last visit to her, and 
expressed a hope that he would be successful in 
his search, as Ernest rose to depart. 

As he passed out of the tent a sudden thought 
struck him and he turned back. “Isn’t there some- 
thing I can do for you, Harnley?” he asked. 
“Would a little help, financially, make you any more 
comfortable? If so, just say the word and you 
shall have it as soon as I can get it to you.” 

“Thank you,” said the man. “I am not in want 
of anything but health, and that I shall never 
have again. My days are numbered and they num- 
ber very few.” 

Out in the sunshine the old woman who had 
accosted him upon his arrival awaited Ernest. 
With a pleasant smile he held out his hand. She 
took it and looked thoughtfully into the palm. “I 
don’t read all from the hand alone,” she said. “I 
see many things besides what is written there. 
You will fall in love, and the girl will be worthy 
of you, but you will be misled in your estimation 


EYA. 


87 


of her by a false friend. A female who wants you 
herself will misrepresent to you the girl you love 
and cause you intense misery, for a short time. 
But it will all come right through your own good- 
ness of heart. Where a more narrow-minded, sel- 
fish man would fail, through your own nobility of 
character you will find happiness.” 

She dropped his hand, and with a smile and a 
word of thanks he left her. He found Rocket still 
among an admiring group of horse-lovers, and 
many words of rough but sincere approval were 
showered upon the beautiful animal, as his master 
mounted him and nodding pleasantly to the Gyp- 
sies rode away. 

“I have an undertaking on my hands that prom- 
ises to be a long and arduous one,” mused Ernest 
as he rode along. “I must try by every means in 
my power to find Evangeline Grayland. Who 
knows what may have been her fate ere this? 
What if I should find her among a degraded class? 
Who knows what kind of training her young mind 
has received during the tender years of her child- 
hood? How surprised father will be. Strange that 
he never hinted this matter to me. Well, I will do 
all I can to find her and I will begin the search at 
once.” 

He took the road which would lead to the 
haunted house with a new feeling of interest in the 
place. How to account for the strange occurrence 
of the night before was a mystery he could not 
fathom, but an irresistible fascination caused him 
to turn Rocket in at the gate, and once more he 


88 


EYA. 


approached the great lonely pile, and dismounting 
entered the side door. He lingered long in the 
silent rooms, going carefully over the house with 
a reverential feeling, now that he knew all the sad 
story, and lingered longest in the room which con- 
tained the portrait of the beautiful Mrs. Grayland. 
He studied the features until he felt sure he could 
not forget them, “For Evangeline may resemble 
her mother,” he said as he turned to depart. 


I 


CHAPTER VI. 


The inmates of the Lexington farmhouse slept 
longer than usual the morning after the visit to 
the haunted house. 

Job was the first one to awake, and soon after 
he had gone out to do the “chores” the little maid 
appeared and began preparations for breakfast. 
Then Tom made his appearance, and after waiting 
rather impatiently for Cecil and Jessamine to come 
down, he went up and rapped at their door. 
Cecil asked what was wanted. “Breakfast is al- 
most ready,” he replied. “Aint you ever goin’ to 
get up?” 

“Tell Sarah I wish her to bring our breakfast up 
here,” she said. 

Tom gave a long, low whistle. “Guess Cecil is 
gettin’ too high-toned fer this place,” he remarked, 
as he went slowly down to the kitchen. “I guess 
it’s all owin’ to her meetin’ and visitin’ with those 
two city folks.” He repeated to the astonished 
Sarah what Cecil had said. 

“Well, that beats my time,” said the girl bristling 
with indignation. “Because my folks are poor and 
I have to work is no sign I’ve got to wait on her 
as if I was a lackey. If that sister of yours never 


90 


EVA. 


gets anything more to eat till I bring her breakfast 
to her bedroom she will get mighty hungry, you 
can tell her that. If she gets anything to eat to- 
day she will come to the table or get it herself.” 

Tom went back and told Cecil that Sarah would 
not bring the breakfast up. “Impudent thing!” 
said Cecil, “she ought to have her ears boxed. Do 
you ever box their ears, Jessamine?” 

“No, indeed,” said Jessamine in surprise. “I would 
never think of it. If I had to work I should not 
want anyone to strike me.” 

“Of course, that would be absurd,” said Cecil, 
'‘but there is a great difference between you and 
I and such creatures as Sarah.” 

“I am very fond of our servants,” said Jessa- 
mine. “Some of them have been in our fam- 
ily ever since I can remember, and they are all 
so good, especially the ones who have been with 
us the longest. They were devoted to mamma, 
and since she died they try to do everything for 
my comfort, for they seem to know how lonely I 
am without her.” 

“But your servants do not expect to be treated 
as your equals,” said Cecil. “What provokes me 
most with Sarah is that she acts as though she 
thinks she is just as good as anybody. She expects 
us to treat her as an equal. You never have that 
to annoy you, I’m sure.” 

“Oh, no. Our servants always keep in their 
proper places. They would never think of taking 
undue liberties. I believe in different classes keep- 
ing within the boundary lines of the sphere to 


EYA. 


91 


which they belong. Some people are always preach- 
ing about social equality, but we know that that 
is all nonsense. Who among us would want our 
cook or coachman to belong to our club? It would 
be perfectly absurd. This idea that all men are 
born equal is ridiculous. We know better than 
that. Some have intellect and talent, while others 
are stupid, ignorant and vicious, naturally, and no 
amount of cultivation will raise them beyond a 
certain point. And there are some who will rise 
in spite of all kinds of difficulties. There are some 
men and women born with such an amount of in- 
tellect and genius that nothing can keep them 
down; they will climb up in the very face of dis- 
couragements that would crush others who pos- 
sessed less of their intellectuality and perseverance. 

“I admire a man or woman who rises from ob- 
scurity through their own efforts. I would be the 
first to applaud cooks or coachmen who had 
shown themselves to be mentally superior to that 
position and worked their way up until they were 
far above it. But while they were cooks or coach- 
men I should be just as much disgusted as anyone 
could be if I saw them trying to force their way 
into the society of a class that was far above 
them. Let cooks and coachmen and laundresses 
associate with cooks and coachmen and laundresses 
as long as they remain in that sphere. But if a 
cook, coachman, or laundress has brains and per- 
severance enough to make their fortune, then let 
them take their place among the higher class, and 
all honor to them, I say. 


92 


EYA. 


“But I must tell you an amusing incident which 
happened to a friend of Aunt Anna’s. This woman 
was in moderate circumstances, neither rich nor 
poor. She associated with her own class, people 
who were also in moderate circumstances, people 
who have small stores, small places of business, 
those who are in offices, and hold positions where 
they get comfortable salaries; about what one would 
call the middle class, but not the class who go out 
to service by any means. Well, auntie’s friend had 
been urged to join a lodge, by a friend of hers, who 
wanted her to belong to it because she did. Auntie’s 
friend hesitated about joining and asked who were 
among the members. Her friend named a few very 
good people who were in every way suitable associ- 
ates for one in her class. After a little deliberation 
and upon being assured that the lodge in question 
was very particular whom they admitted to mem- 
bership, she joined. She found after she had atten- 
ded a few of the meetings that there were a number 
who were not up to the standard of the rest of 
the membership, but she thought that if any ob- 
jectionable names were brought in that it would 
be the easiest thing in the world to keep them out 
by the ballot, for she supposed that was what the 
ballot-box was for; so that one would not be 
obliged to express any opinion in words in regard 
to a candidate. She was told that if a member 
objected to the election of a candidate all they had 
to do was to put in a ‘black-ball.’ 

“After a while a woman joined the lodge; a wo- 
man whose husband was rising in business; but 


EVA. 


93 


what her ideas of society were it would be hard 
to say, for this Mrs. Upperwool had not been in 
the lodge long when she proposed the name of her 
washerwoman for membership. I think she must 
have been a sort of socialist or she would not have 
wanted the woman to join the same lodge to which 
she herself belonged. Well, there was consternation 
when the candidate’s name was read, and it be- 
came generally known in the lodge that it was 
Mrs. Upperwool’s washerwoman. Many and vari- 
ous were the remarks which the members made to 
each other — in confidence, of course. They did not 
like the idea of offending Mrs. Upperwool, but the 
majority of them did not want the washerwoman 
to get into the lodge. One woman said that she 
thought it an insult to them for Mrs. Upperwool 
to propose such a thing. One suggested that they 
admit the washwoman to membership so as to 
get her to wash dishes whenever they had an en- 
tertainment and not have to pay her. Another 
proposed that they all snub her so that she would 
not care to come to the meetings, but would stay 
away and pay her dues just the same. ‘Yes,’ said 
one, ‘for her money will be just as good as anybody’s.’ 
A woman who was inclined to be suspicious was 
heard to remark that the best way to keep her 
out was to find something against her character; 
but there were two or three who declared that 
they were not enough interested in washerwomen’s 
characters to spend any time investigating. 

“But auntie’s friend said she did not see why 
they could not keep her out by the use of the bal- 


94 


EYA. 


lot-box. It would be the quietest and best way 
of showing their disapproval of the candidate. So 
she and two or three of her friends black-balled 
her. Then there was an exciting time. All those 
who were not in the secret, wondered who put in 
the black-balls. Mrs. Upperwool’s naturally plain 
face was black as a thunder-cloud. They balloted 
again, and again auntie’s friend and her com- 
panions put in black-balls. Then there was a per- 
fect babel. They wondered and surmised and conjec- 
tured, and suspected the wrong parties, and instead 
of withdrawing the objectionable name and apolo- 
gising to the lodge for bringing it in — as she would 
have done if she had had a grain of common sense 
—Mrs. Upperwool insisted and persisted in trying 
to force the lodge to accept the woman. And one 
would hardly believe it, but she succeeded in 
intimidating the majority of the members to such 
an extent that, rather than to offend her, they 
made such an ado about it that they frightened 
the ones who were with auntie’s friend and they 
backed out and dared not put in black-balls when 
at the next meeting the lodge balloted again. So- 
by keeping it going Mrs. Upperwool succeeded in 
forcing her washwoman into the lodge. But 
auntie’s friend was disgusted and sent in her 
resignation. She now wonders what ballot-boxes 
are for. She says she will never join any more 
lodges for she does not believe in social equality 
to the extent of associating with washwomen.” 

While Jessamine had been relating this lady’s 
experience they had been dressing, and soon after 


EVA. 


95 


they went down to the table. Sarah, with flashing 
eyes and a very red face, placed the breakfast on 
the table before them with more force than was at 
all necessary and then went out, shutting the door 
with emphasis. 

“That means that we may wait on ourselves, ” 
said Cecil. “I will tell mamma, when she gets 
home, just how unruly she is.” 

“’Twont do no good,” said Tom. “Ma won’t 
turn Sarah off. She’ll tell you plainly that you 
shouldn’t put on so many airs over Sarah. Ouch!” 
as Cecil pressed his foot under the table to check 
his remarks, which were becoming embarrassing to 
the role of dignity which she was assuming. She 
had great respect for the wealth and standing of 
Jessamine’s family, and was stretching a point to 
keep up an appearance of mistress over maid. 

As soon as he was sure that the maid was out 
of hearing Tom introduced the subject of the ad- 
venture of the night before. They discussed the 
question of the strange occurrence which had so 
startled them, but could come to no satisfactory 
conclusion. The flash that had come so suddenly, 
followed by the peal of thunder, could not have 
been natural, for the sky was cloudless, and the 
moon shining brightly. And then the shot followed 
by the falling body, the terrible cry; the hurrying 
footsteps, all were in accordance with the story 
of the tragedy which had made the place desolate. 

“That Mr. Grayland is a good feller,” said 
Tom. “I like him first rate. You know his folks r 
don’t you?” addressing Jessamine. 


96 


EYA. 


“I am not personally acquainted with them, but 
I know them by repute. They are an old and very 
much respected family. They are immensely 
wealthy but this young man and his father are 
great travelers, returning home so seldom that 
their oldest friends hardly ever see them. The old 
gentleman spends most of his time abroad. I 
wonder if it can be that they are in any way re- 
lated to the people who used to live in the haunt- 
ed house. Their names are the same, for it was 
only yesterday that I asked Aunt Cindy about it 
and she told me all the sad story. She said that 
the name of the man who used to live there was 
Grayland, and that the brother who came from 
across the sea, after the murder, was an Egypt- 
ologist. Can it be possible that this young man’s 
father was that one?” 

“It is strange that the name is the same if he is 
not,” said Cecil. “But no, it can’t be the same 
family or the young man would have said some- 
thing about it last night, and he did not appear to 
know any more, nor as much about the haunted 
house as we did. He did not say one word that 
would lead anyone to think that he had even 
heard the story, and he certainly would if he had 
been of the same family, for the place would now 
belong to his father. Don’t you see?” 

“Yes,” replied Jessamine, “it seems so, but it is 
all very mysterious and I don’t understand it at 
all.” 

“You will probably meet him again,” said Cecil, 
“for he will call and return the money you loaned 


EYA. 


97 


him, and he will not dare to leave it with anyone 
else to give to you, for he has promised to keep 
the secret of our adventure. So he will put the 
money into your own hands, and that will give 
you an opportunity.’ ’ 

“I would not ask him any questions, though,” 
said Jessamine, “but if he volunteers any informa- 
tion, well and good.” 

“He’s a brick,” said Tom. “I like him.” 

“Not long after they finished breakfast, Ely Nay- 
burn drove up to the door and asked if Jessamine 
was ready to return home with him. She replied 
that she was, and resisting Cecil’s entreaties to 
stay longer, she got her hat and climbed up beside 
her uncle. 

As they drove homeward the subject uppermost 
in her mind was the mystery which was puzzling 
her, and as they were passing the haunted house 
she suddenly said: “Uncle Ely, do you believe this 
place is really haunted? Do you believe there ever 
was such a thing as a real haunted house?” 

Uncle Ely started at the sudden and unexpected 
question, and looked curiously at her. 

“Tell me the truth,” she persisted. “Do you or 
do you not give any credence to such reports?” 

“Well,” he replied slowly, “I can’t say I believe 
in ghosts, but I am not prepared to assert that 
there is no such thing. When I was a younger man 
if you had asked me such a question I should 
have answered positively that there never was 
any such thing as a haunted house; but as I grow 
older I find that there are a great many things I 


98 


EVA. 


do not know. When a man gets old he comes to 
the conclusion that he knows very little. When he 
is about twenty he thinks there is very little that 
he does not know. I do not believe in ghosts, 
but if there are such apparitions, my belief or dis- 
belief in them would not make a particle of dif- 
ference with the fact. Once upon a time people 
did not believe the earth was round, but it was 
and had been all the time, and their beliefs made 
not a straw’s difference in the shape of it. I do 
not believe there is such a thing as a house that is 
haunted by disembodied spirits, but it may be true 
for all that. If I should receive good proof that 
there was, why then I should believe it, for I 
should have a good reason to.” 

“How much you are like poor mamma,” said 
Jessamine. “She always told me to never be pos- 
itive about anything until I knew it beyond a 
doubt from some proof I had received.” 

“That is a pretty good rule to go by,” replied 
Uncle Ely. “I think you will make no mistake in 
following it.” 

“Did you ever see anything strange at, or about 
the haunted house?” she asked. 

“I saw a figure at the window in the upper 
story one night; the window where the poor lady 
was murdered. I was driving by the place when 
I saw it. It was dressed all in white and looked 
like the form of a woman, but it might have been 
of flesh and blood for all I know. The room was 
lit up behind it and the figure looked just as any- 
one dressed in white would look if they were stand- 


EYA. 


99 


ing in a window with a light in the room behind 
them.” 

“Did it frighten yon?” she asked. 

“No, I can’t say it did. I don’t see what there 
is to be afraid of even in a genuine ghost, if there 
is such a thing. What could they do to harm any- 
body?”. 

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she replied. 

As they arrived home, Cindy came out, her fat 
face beaming. 

“Well, dear,” she said, “did you have a nice time?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Jessamine, “a very nice time.” 

“I told Ely that as long as he was goin’ over to 
Squire Brown’s on an errand, he might just as 
well kill one bird with two stones by stoppin’ to 
Lexington’s and bringin’ you home.” 

“You mean kill two birds with one stone, don’t 
you, Cindy?” said Ely. 

“No, I don’t,” she snapped. “Nobody could kill 
two birds with one stone. Ely Nayburn you’re 
the biggest fool I ever see.” 

“Much obliged, Cindy,” he laughed. “Jessamine,, 
you don’t get as many compliments as I do.” 

“She knows more than you do,” Cindy retorted. 

At that moment the sound of galloping hoofs 
attracted their attention, and down the road the 
superb figure of Ernest Gravland, mounted upon 
his beautiful Rocket, came into view. Stepping be- 
hind a tall rosebush, Jessamine watched him ap- 
proaching, herself hidden by the thick foliage, for 
she did not wish to be seen by him. 

As he passed the house Ely exclaimed: “Well I 


LCFC. 


100 


EYA. 


declare! If that aint the very chap I saw at the 
hotel last night, and that’s a fine horse he’s got.” 

Cindy waddled out to the gate as rapidly as her 
ample proportions would permit and gazed after 
the now rapidly retreating horseman. 

“He rides as if he and the horse were all one,” 
she said. “He makes me think of them pictures of 
men that are part horse.” 

“You mean Centaurs, don’t you, Cind\ T ?” asked 
Ely. 

“I don’t know what you call ’em. You’d have 
some outlandish name for ’em, I s’pose. But their 
pictures are in the almanac. I’d like to know who 
he is, anyhow, and what he’s doin’ here.” 

“If you could only travel a little faster you 
might have got out into the road in time to have 
stopped him and inquired all about his business. 
What a pity it is that you are so fat, Cindy.” 

Her only reply this time was an angry sniff as 
she walked bj" him, her whole body bristling with 
indignation, and Jessamine on entering the house 
not long after, found her at the sink washing 
dishes, her round face drawn into an indescribable 
expression, tears of rage were dropping unheeded 
into the dishwater, while she rattled the dishes 
and set them down with such force as to almost 
break them. 

“I just hate him, Jessamine,” she sniffed. “He is 
the meanest man I ever see in all my life.” 

“Let me wipe the dishes for you,” said Jessa- 
mine soothingly, “and then you will get them 
done so much sooner.” 


EVA. 


101 


Cindy handed her the dishtowel reluctantly. “I 
never can make it seem right fer me to let you do 
such work in my little house, when you are the 
only daughter of a millionaire.’ ’ 

Jessamine laughed. “What difference does it make 
whether I am papa’s only daughter, or whether 
he had a dozen others? 

“Wal, you needn’t make believe that you don’t 
know what I mean, fer you do,” Cindy said, 
smiling through her tears with such a ludicrous 
expression that Jessamine found it hard to preserve 
her gravity. “You are a sweet girl, and I think 
the world of you, but I aint goin’ to speak to Ely 
agin today.” 

“He does not mean any harm, Aunt Cindy. He 
does and says lots of things just for fun. Just to 
tease you.” 

“You don’t know anything about these men, 
Jessamine. They are meaner than pusley, most of 
’em, especially after they are married. And Ely is 
the very meanest.” 

Jessamine said no more and after the dishes 
were done Cind}' repaired to her bedroom, which 
opened off the little sittingroom, still declaring 
that she would not speak to Ely again that day. 
“You’ll have to call him when dinner is ready, fer 
I won’t,” she said emphatically. 

Jessamine went out into the little garden and 
found her uncle bending over a rain-barrel, tender- 
ly lifting a young robin out of the water, where it 
had fallen in its clumsy efforts to fly. He laid it 
gently on the grass, and turning, saw her watch- 


102 


EVA. 


ing him. “I guess the little feller’s all right,” he 
said. “He hadn’t more’n fell in before I had hold 
of him.” 

The girl’s eves grew moist. “How kind you are,” 
she said. “I wonder how many men would do 
that.” 

“Oh, most any of ’em would,” he responded 
cheerfully. “I don’t know of any that wouldn’t, 
unless it is Dan Bruler, and nobody expects any- 
thing of him.” 

“Uncle Ely,” said Jessamine, laying her hand on 
his arm, “I wish you would be more careful about 
joking with Aunt Cindy. She takes everything 
you say in dead earnest, and she has been crying 
about what you said when the young man went 
by.” 

A peculiar expression flitted over his face. “I 
know,” he said shortly. “I was just outside the 
window, and I heard her tell you that she would 
not speak to me again today. Don’t mind any- 
thing she says or does, my child, for it amounts 
to nothing.” 

“But it makes me feel uncomfortable to see any- 
one in distress, and she seemed to feel very badly 
about it.” 

“You don’t know her as well as I do,” he re- 
plied. “If you did you would not give it a second 
thought. Come with me.” 

He strode toward the house, the girl following 
him, wondering in her own mind how a man who 
could not see a baby robin die unnecessarily could 
view with such apparent unconcern his wife’s tears 
and distress. 


EYA. 


103 


They entered the house, making no comment, 
;and Ely went into the sitting-room, Jessamine 
standing in the doorway. 

“Cindy!” he called. There was no reply; only a 
sniffing sound from the bedroom. “Cindy!” no an- 
swer. “Cind — y!” The sniffing ceased, but there 
was still no answer. “Cindy, I stopped at the 
bank today and got some money. Don’t you want 
some of it?” 

There was the sound of a hasty plunge and a 
chair toppling over, and Cindy appeared in the 
bedroom door-way, all smiles, her round face, red 
with recent tears, but now beaming with delight. 
“Why, of course I do, El} r ,” she said joyfully. “I 
didn’t hear you the first three times you called 
me.” 

“Then how did you come to know that I had 
called you three times before you answered, if you 
did not hear me?” he asked, handing her a roll of 
bills. 

He turned and gave Jessamine a look which 
proved too much for her self-control, and she 
turned hastily away to hide the laugh which would 
.come in spite of all efforts to suppress it. 


CHAPTER VII. 


“There is something which has puzzled me ever 
since I have been here,” said Jessamine, “and I am 
no nearer to a solution of it than I was at first.” 
She was lying in a hammock on the side porch, 
while Ely sat on the step busily employed in fixing 
a piece of harness. It was a hot, sultry afternoon, 
and Cindy had gone to bed with a headache, so 
Jessamine and Uncle Ely were alone on the porch. 

“What is it?” he asked. “Maybe I can help you 
a little.” 

“I have been studying how I can help old Mr. 
and Mrs. Brown and not have them know it; for 
you know how sensitive they are about anything 
that looks like charity, and also how destitute 
they are, and it is just such ones who always 
awaken my sympathy. I think they are much 
more worthy of assistance than people who are 
always asking for it. Now I have some of my al- 
lowance left, for papa was more generous than 
usual this time because I was going on a visit, 
and I would like so much to give them some, just 
a little you know, and do it in some way that 
would not wound their sensitive feelings, and I 
can’t think of any way. I got a letter from papa 


EYA. 


105 


this morning and he wants me to come home 
Saturday, and this is Wednesday, so you see I 
haven’t much more time.” 

Ely looked thoughtfully at her for a moment; 
then he said: “Well, it would never do to offer 
them anything outright, for they would only feel 
humiliated, and I don’t know of anybody in Green- 
dell who needs help any more than they do, for 
they have only one dollar a week to live upon 
over and above what the old man earns. But of 
course they do not have any rent to pay, and they 
have their little garden, and there are some fruit 
trees on the place, but it is a pretty small sum for 
them to squeeze along on, and not go hungry. 
They have seen better days. They both belong to- 
well-bred, high-spirited families, and they are just 
the kind who would force a smile to hide the 
pangs of starvation. As long as it is possible to 
exist without help, they will, and if the time ever 
comes when they are obliged through sickness or 
accident to accept charity it will be bitter as death 
to them both. So you see how difficult it is to 
reach them.” 

“Oh, but those are just the ones who most de- 
serve help. I have a great sympathy for them, for 
I know just how they feel. I should feel the very 
same, and it distresses me to see such people suf- 
fer. I don’t care one-half so much about helping 
beggars, but I am determined to do a little some- 
thing for Mr. and Mrs. Brown before I go home.” 

“W T ell, there is one way that I have in mind, and 
you are such a bright girl, Jessamine, I believe 


106 


EVA. 


you could carry it out successfully; but if you got 
caught at it you would be placed in a very em- 
barrassing position. If you would take a handful 
of small change; fifty cent pieces, quarters, dimes 
and nickels and go there some afternoon when the 
old man was out of doors, and take the oppor- 
tunity every time the old lady turned her back, to 
slip a coin into the sewing machine drawers, and 
into her work-basket, and on the shelf over the 
kitchen table, and about the rooms in different 
places, being careful to put only one piece in each 
place, I don’t believe they would ever know that 
it was not money which they had put there them- 
selves and forgotten, for they are very forgetful, 
and you see they would not find these pieces of 
money all at the same time. They would come 
across them at different times and wonder how they 
came to forget that they had put them there. I 
dropped a fifty cent piece in her work-basket one 
day when she went to the door to call the old 
gentleman, whom I wanted to see, and when she 
came back, and sat down to her sewing, she looked 
in the basket for her thimble, and when she saw 
the half dollar she said: ‘Why, I didn’t know I put 
that there. How forgetful I am. I wonder how 
long that has been in the bottom of that basket? 
I am getting so forgetful, I must be more careful. 
I am always laying things down, and forgetting 
where I put them. That must have been there a 
good while,’ and she got up and got her purse and 
put the money in it with such a pleased look I am 
sure she thought it some of her own. So you 


EYA. 


107 


■might try my method, but be very careful, for to 
get found out would spoil it all.” 

“Oh, uncle, you’re a brick,” cried Jessamine, en- 
thusiastically. “I’ll do it and not get caught, 
never fear. I might have known that you would 
think of some way. How much you are like poor 
mamma.” 

“Well, I ought to be some like her, I’m her only 
brother, so it is not surprising that I should re- 
semble her a little. So your father says } r ou must 
come home Saturday?” 

“Yes,” she replied, “he and Aunt Anna have got 
home, so I suppose I shall have to go; but I have 
been very happy here, and I am in no hurry to 
leave.” 

“And I am in no hurry to have you go, Jessa- 
mine. You brighten up the place like sunshine, and 
I wish you could live with us; but I know that 
our little home and this little village is hardly a 
fitting place for a girl who will occupy the place 
in the world that you will. But there is one thing 
I am pretty sure of, and that is that the great 
world of fashionable society will never spoil my 
little Jessamine, for you are your mother over 
again.” 

“No,” she replied, “I don’t care much for society 
in general. I like to be with my friends — my real 
friends, you know — those who really like me for 
myself, and not for what papa is worth. I know 
that there is more insincerity and hypocrisy in this 
world than truth and honesty, and that there are 
very few who have a really unselfish regard for 


108 


EVA. 


one. I used to have long talks with mamma be- 
fore she died, and she told me a great deal about 
the world, and warned me against certain things. 
One thing I remember most of all because she was 
so very earnest about impressing it upon my mind. 
She said to me one day: ‘Jessamine, remember this 
— that only the deepest, strongest love can justify 
the marriage relation, and never allow anyone to 
force you into a marriage with a man you do not 
love with all your heart. If you meet a man j~ou 
think you love, wait a year or two and see if the 
affection } r ou feel for him remains as deep and 
strong as at first, and then if you feel sure that y ou 
can never be happy without him, marry him and be 
true to him through life; but do not marry a man 
you think you love, without plent}^ of time for delib- 
eration, for fancy is not love, but is often mistaken 
for it at first, and above all things never allow your 
father to persuade you to marry a man for money 
or a title. Be firm on that point and I shall be 
much more reconciled to die, if I can be sure that 
my little girl will do as her heart dictates.’ ” 

“And you will do as your mother advised in 
spite of any circumstances which may be brought 
to bear upon you to make you do otherwise?” 
asked Uncle Ely anxiously. 

“Yes,” she answered solemnly, “through thick 
and thin, regardless of anything or anybody, I 
shall do as mamma advised.” 

“It is well,” he replied, “and if you ever need a 
champion, I’ll be one that you may depend upon. 
Remember that.” 


EVA. 


109 


“Thank you,” she said, reaching out and clasp- 
ing his large, strong hand. “I shall come straight 
to you if I ever need one, for I know you will not 
fail me. But, Uncle El} r , why is it that there are 
so many unhappy marriages?” 

“A great deal of the trouble comes from the very 
thing your mother warned you against; mistaking 
fancy for love. The law allows boys and girls in 
their teens to marry if they wish. Now what does 
a boy or girl of that age know about choosing a 
companion for life? The very one they would 
fancy then might be perfectly obnoxious to them a 
few years later. For instance — the girl a boy of 
twenty would take a liking to, might have nothing 
to recommend her but a fair complexion, a plump 
form, a jolly way, red lips, white teeth, and a ten- 
dency to laugh at everything he said. That, in 
nine cases out of ten, would be sufficient to arouse 
his interest in and make him admire her. She 
might not possess a teaspoonful of common sense, 
but he would not see that. If he was to wait 
until he was thirty before he married her, by that 
time he would see all her inferiority when com- 
pared with some other women, and could not be 
hired to marry her, and after a time her plump- 
ness would develop into a shapeless mass of flesh, 
and her complexion grow brown and leathery; the 
tendency to laugh would turn to a positive talent 
for faultfinding, her pretty teeth would become a 
lot of decayed and broken snags through her slov- 
enly neglect of them. Her lack of intellect w^ould 
show — in the absence of any outer attraction— with 


110 


EYA. 


glaring prominence, and he would find himself tied 
for life to a stupid, grumbling clod, from whom 
there would be no escape but death. For unless 
he could prove her to be grossly unfaithful to him, 
he would have to stand it, according to the law of 
New York State. 

“Perhaps that is justice, but I think that a life- 
time of misery in bondage is a heavy penalty to 
pay for an act committed in youthful folly and 
thoughtlessness. At least it looks that way to 
me. Most people consider that virtue — chastity — is 
all, or most to be desired in a woman; that if she 
is chaste she must be near perfection, but I tell 
you, Jessamine, there are other things to be de- 
sired in either man or woman. I sometimes think 
if I had to choose between two women, one of 
which was a stupid, slovenly, ignorant, repulsive 
looking, yet virtuous one, and the other a bright, 
intelligent, well groomed, fine looking woman who 
was inclined to gaiety and recklessness, I would 
take the latter and run the chances of her making 
me happier than the other one would. For I do 
think that brains are more to be desired than an}'- 
thing else in this world. 

“Think of it, my child. If one has brains — a 
bright, intelligent manner — even though we know 
them to be very faulty, we cannot help feeling a 
certain admiration for them. There is an homage 
which we must pay to intellect wherever we meet 
with it, even though we do not approve of the use 
to which it is being put by the one who possesses 
it. Now on the other hand, what respect or horn- 


EYA. 


Ill 


age can we pay to a stupid, thick-headed, narrow- 
minded clod, under any circumstances? It makes 
no difference if they are perfectly honest, virtuous 
and inoffensive members of the community. We 
feel a sort of contemptuous pity for them; a pity 
which is strongly tinctured with disgust. Is it not 
so? If a person has intellect there is something to 
admire. If they haven’t, what is there? Nothing.’' 

Jessamine smiled. “There is much truth in what 
you say,” she said. “But perhaps if you were ta 
hear the opinion of a man who had suffered from 
the gaiety and infidelity of an attractive, brilliant 
woman, his great cry would be, ‘give me virtue 
above all else, even though it be accompained by 
ugliness and stupidity. Anything! Anything but 
such recklessness!”’ 

“Yes,” he replied, “there is no doubt of that. 
But on the other hand, if a man should have both 
experiences; should live five years with one and 
then five years with the other, and was then com- 
pelled to choose the one he would take for the 
third period, I am positive he would choose the 
gay and reckless one. He would at least have 
something attractive, and his greatest anxiety 
would be the fear that some other man would 
want her, and try to take her from him. While if 
he took the stupid, unattractive one because she 
was good and virtuous, he would soon fear that 
he wouldn’t lose her, for there would be no at- 
traction for him or anyone else, and even her stolid r 
home-staying virtues would appear to him but 
the result of excessive mental sluggishness, and 


112 


EYA. 


credit her virtue only to lack of temptation and 
opportunity to be otherwise.’ ’ 

“Well, I give up and confess I am beaten in a 
fair argument,” said Jessamine, laughing. “I never 
thought of it in just that light before. But I ad- 
mit that I could stand anything else better than 
I could dullness of intellect. We know, of course, 
that one is not to blame for lack of brains, but 
that knowledge does not make their companion- 
ship any more agreeable. For if one is intellectual, 
no matter what their morals are, they amount to 
something, while if one is an idiot and is ever so 
good, they amount to nothing. But there must be 
something wrong with the marriage laws or there 
would not be so much unhappiness. How would 
you fix it, Uncle Ely, if you had it to do.” 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “It is a very big 
question. If a man has lots of money and he does 
not wish to live with his wife, he can provide her 
with a separate establishment, and a good many 
do; but if a man has not enough to keep up two 
places of residence, one for her, and another for 
himself, there is no alternative but to run away 
and go so far that she cannot have him brought 
back, or to grin and bear it at home, or if he 
can’t grin he can bear it or go out and knock him- 
self in the head. But if he gets tired of life and 
tries to kill himself, he has got to make a success 
of it, or she can have him arrested for that — for 
suicide is unlawful — so you see it is a pretty 
serious affair, this getting married. One is taking 
a big contract on one’s hands when one stands up 


EYA. 


113 


and promises to love and honor the one chosen, 
for no one knows whether he can fill the contract 
even if he tries his very best.” 

“That was just what mamma said,” replied 
Jessamine. “She told me that no one could tell 
whether they could fulfill what they were promis- 
ing at the altar, no matter how sincere their in- 
tentions might be. But don’t you think there are 
any happy marriages?” 

“Oh, yes, there is an occasional case where the 
love was the genuine article on both sides. I have 
known perhaps half a dozen cases of that kind 
during my lifetime, but not more than that. There 
are a good many who are quite happy for a few 
years, but something generally comes between 
them sooner or later that cools their love and 
makes them wish for their freedom. I have never 
known more than a very few cases where they re- 
mained loving and loyal even into old age. The 
old couple whom we were speaking of, old Mr. and 
Mrs. Brown, are one of the few. They are perfect- 
ly devoted to each other.” 

“How lovely that is,” said Jessamine. “Such a 
marriage is what marriage ought to be. But I 
do not think that either man or woman ought to 
be bound by law to live with one who has become 
loathsome to them in any way just because they 
were so foolish as to marry them when they did 
not know them as they really were. There ought 
to be some way out of such a bondage. It is 
barbarous for a person to have his or her whole 
life spoiled, their existence made wretched, by 


114 


EYA. 


another fellow-creature. That is the very worst 
kind of slavery.” 

“What is it that is such awful slavery?” said a 
familiar voice, and looking up they saw Cindy 
standing in the doorway. Her head was tied up 
in a red bandana handkerchief, and her feet encased 
in a pair of old slippers belonging to Ely. “What 
are you two talking about now?” 

“Jessamine was just remarking that she thought 
marriage one of the greatest frauds ever gotten up 
to impose upon the human race,” said Ely, turn- 
ing to Jessamine with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“Why, dear, what put such a wrong idea into 
your pretty head?” asked Cindy. “You are much 
mistaken about that. What would become of 
folks if they couldn’t git married? Now there’s 
Ely, what would he do without me? He thinks 
there aint anybody else in this world like me, 
don’t you, Ely?” 

“I’m dead sure there isn’t,” he replied. There 
never was, nor ever will be.” 

“And if we had our lives to live over again,” she 
continued, “we would git married just the same 
as we did. You know I would marry you again 
if I had it to do over, don’t you, Ely?” 

“I don’t believe you would, Cindy,” he replied. 
“In fact I’m quite sure you wouldn’t.” 

“Yes, I would. Don’t you pay no attention to 
what he says, Jessamine, he knows I would, but 
he likes to make believe that he don’t think so. 
But don’t you let anybody set you up against 
marryin’, fer it was the way God intended folks to* 


EVA. 


115 


do. When I see an old bach or an old maid, I 
think to myself, ‘well, there’s a fool, and a big one, 
too.’ I think everybody ought to git married, 
and they’d have to if I made the laws, fer I 
wouldn’t have no old maids nor baches around 
a-moonin’ along alone. I’d make ’em git married. ” 

“I suppose you would tie them together hap- 
hazzard whether they were suited with each other 
or not, wouldn’t you, Cindy? What a blissful 
state of affairs you would have in a short time. 
What if they got so sick and tired of each other 
that they ran away; would you allow them to 
live as grass widows?” 

“No,” she replied, “if there is anything that is 
even worse than an old maid or bach it is a grass 
widow or widower. I wouldn’t have no divorces. 
I think they are the invention of Satan. I say as 
folks make their beds let ’em lie in ’em. If they 
don’t know enough to pick out a decent pardner 
let ’em make the best of it. Don’t the ceremony 
say ‘for better or worse,’ and ‘whom God hath 
joined together let no man put asunder?’ Aint that 
plain enough? God don’t like such doin’s as di- 
vorces. It’s against His wishes.” 

“How do you know what God wishes?” said Ely. 
“Are you in direct communication with Him? You 
talk as though you had your information straight 
from headquarters.” 

“I guess I know what sin is, Ely Nay burn, and 
it would be a good deal more to your credit if 
you did. You’re the biggest fool I ever see in all 
my life,” she snapped, as she waddled back into 
the house. 


116 


EYA. 


The next day Jessamine proceeded to carry her 
plan of helping old Mr. and Mrs. Brown into 
execution. She walked out to their humble cottage, 
which was situated on the very outskirts of 
the village. This old couple were alone in the 
world, excepting for distant relatives. The little 
place they called home had been willed to them by 
a relative, together with fifty-two dollars a year. 
As there was half an acre of ground with it, on 
which were some fruit trees, they managed by rais- 
ing a few vegetables to get enough to live upon, 
but it barely supplied them with food and shelter, 
while other comforts were sadty lacking, and their 
own sensitive pride stood in the way of their ac- 
cepting charitable donations. They were both of 
good birth and breeding, and had been reared in 
plenty, and now in their old age, through a series 
of misfortunes they were reduced to pinching pov- 
erty. 

The old lady was sitting on the little porch when 
Jessamine came up the walk. She greeted her 
warmly, for the girl was more like those with 
whom she had associated in happier years. 

There was an air of refinement about this little 
home which had always pleased Jessamine. They 
sat on the porch and chatted for some time, and 
she began to wonder how she could manage the 
errand upon which she had come, when the old 
lady arose and remarking that she had forgotten to 
put out any water for the chickens, asked Jessa- 
mine to excuse her for a few moments. “Go into 
the sitting-room and you will find that volume of 


EYA. 


117 


Natural History you like so much, right there on 
the stand, and I will soon be back/’ she said, as 
she went out to the chickens. 

This was Jessamine’s opportunity, and before the 
old lady returned she had distributed five dollars 
in small change about the house, and was quietly 
looking at the book referred to when Mrs. Brown 
came in. Not long after she bade her friend 
good bye and departed with a heart made light 
by her success, for she knew that the old lady 
would discover the pieces at different times and 
never suspect the truth. “I should never have 
thought of that method if it hadn’t been for Uncle 
Ely,” she said to herself. “How I wish his home 
life was happier.” 

The next day she went to the Lexington farm 
house to pay a farewell visit to Cecil. The two 
girls went to Cecil’s room, and there, curled up in 
great easy chairs, they chatted of everything dear 
to girlish hearts. Jessamine asked Cecil to come 
up to the city and visit her, and with a heart 
beating high with joy and gratification, Cecil 
promised to do so. It had been the dream of her 
life to visit such a home and such people as Jessa- 
mine’s. The luxury and grandeur of such a life 
was more to her taste than anything else on earth. 
She had planned and worked for this invitation. 
All that had ever induced her to consent to that 
visit to the haunted house was a desire to please 
Jessamine in everything. Now she felt that her ef- 
forts had been rewarded. All the fright and misery 
she had suffered that night were as nothing when 


118 


EVA. 


weighed in the balance with the realization of her 
desires. She looked so radiant that Jessamine 
noticed it and wondered at it. She had never seen 
her in such high spirits. Her eyes were bright with 
triumph, her cheeks flushed, and her manner that 
of a person exhilarated by too much stimulant. 

“Oh! Jessamine!” she said. “There is one thing I 
always thought I would like to do if I ever came 
up to the city to stay a few days, and that is to 
go slumming. I have read so much about it, and 
I am so interested in poor people, anyway, that I 
know I should enjoy it more than all else. It must 
be so satisfying to go into their homes, which are 
so bare and cheerless, and help them and hear 
them bless you for it. I suppose you go often. I 
know you would be interested in such grand, noble 
work.” 

Jessamine looked surprised. “Well, no,” she said, 
“I can’t say that I am much interested in such 
work. A number of women in auntie’s set go of- 
ten, and have asked me to go, but I never went 
slumming with them. But there is one friend of 
auntie’s who goes almost every day, and I will 
introduce you to her and she will be delighted. I 
don’t think I was ever intended for a missionary. 
Auntie’s friends tell us their experiences and that 
is enough for me. The wretches she describes take 
one’s money and whine for more, and as soon as 
one’s back is turned they spend it for vile liquors, 
and in drunken brawls and fights, and they are 
disgustingly filthy and fiendishly cruel, both to 
human beings and animals. Some of them would 


EYA. 


119 


torture an animal just for pastime— just for the 
fiendish pleasure of seeing it suffer. 

“I think one day will be enough for you, Cecil, 
but I want you to do just what you think you 
would enjoy most, and auntie’s friend will go with 
you, and our carriage and John will be at your 
disposal, and then evenings we can go to the 
opera or theater. We can’t go to balls and society 
functions for I am not out yet. I have not yet 
passed the portals of fashionable society, but we 
can go to lots of entertainments, and I think I can 
make it pleasant for you even though I am not 
yet in society.” 

“Oh, I am sure we shall have a perfectly heavenly 
time,” replied Cecil, “but I supposed the mission- 
ary work would be just the thing you would be 
the most interested in. I don’t believe 1 would 
want to give much to such people as you describe, 
but if I went into the slums to do any good, I 
should try and find the worthy poor. Those who 
were clean, refined and deserving.” 

Jessamine laughed. “You would look for such 
ones as you have read about; widows who worked 
hard to support some small children, and you 
would expect to find the house scrupulously clean 
and neat, and the children all dressed in clean, 
patched frocks, sitting in a row studying some 
good books which had been sent to them from a 
Sunday school. That was something like your idea 
of it, wasn’t it?” 

“Well, yes, something like that, only not quite 
so much so. But I should not care to help a 


120 


EVA. 


vicious, wicked class. I should want them to be 
neat and refined.’ ’ 

“But that would not be slumming,” said Jessa- 
mine. “I don’t say that there are never such fam- 
ilies in the city slums, but I do say that they are 
very rarely met with. I think that the best way 
to help the very poor, is to give them the oppor- 
tunity to help themselves by furnishing them with 
some kind of work, and paying them well for do- 
ing it. I have noticed that people who are the 
most worthy of help are generally the ones who 
try to help themselves by getting employment, and 
making themselves so useful to their employers that 
they hold their places and earn enough to live 
upon, and some of that class, although poor and 
obliged to do without many comforts, are too 
sensitive and proud to accept charity. They do not 
live in the dirty, filthy districts of the worst slums. 
You will find that the class who are always ready 
to tell their troubles and wheedle you into giving, 
are least deserving. They will take all you will 
give and ask for more. But there is nothing like 
seeing these things for yourself. Come and make 
me a good long visit and I will undertake to man- 
age so that you will see all the sights.” 

They said good bye, and Tom came out and 
walked home with Jessamine in the gathering twi- 
light. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

In a bright, cozy room in an apartment house, 
situated in a certain street which bore a very evil 
reputation, a woman and young girl, scarcely more 
than a child, were sitting before a fire which had 
been lighted in the grate for the purpose of toast- 
ing the bread for their tea. The woman was past 
her prime so far as beauty went, and looked faded 
and weary and worn, but the girl was a beauty, 
just entering upon her brightest and best years. 
About fifteen years of age, and though yet unde- 
veloped she gave promise of great loveliness of face 
and form, and added to that was a high-bred 
grace, an aristocratic bearing, a pride and intelli- 
gence which lent the chief charm and fascination 
to her .every motion. She was as unlike her com- 
panion as the thoroughbred is unlike his common- 
place brother, but that there was a great affection 
existing between them one could not doubt, for it 
shone in their faces and was expressed in the tones 
of their voices whenever they addressed each other. 

The young girl was watching the toast and turn- 
ing it occasionally, and the woman leaned back in 
her chair and looked at the girl with a smile of 
admiration in her faded eyes. 


122 


EYA. 


“That is done enough, Eva,” she said at last, 
'“you have browned it beautifully. You would 
make a famous little housekeeper if you were ever 
obliged to work; which I hope you never will be,” 
she added with a sigh. “You shall never be a 
drudge if I can prevent it, dearest. I shall try to 
manage for you better than that, my own.” 

The girl looked up with a merry smile. “It 
would be no worse for me to work than it is for 
all those girls who go home from the shops and 
factories at half past five every night, would it? 

“Dick’s father says you spoil me, Fanchette. He 
says you are bringing me up for something worse 
than work. I am afraid you are too good to me, 
for just think how you have always petted me.” 

The older woman’s face darkened, her eyes flashed 
and she bit her lips to suppress an exclamation of 
intense anger. Eva was busying herself in arrang- 
ing the toast on a plate so that she did not notice 
her companion’s emotion. 

They sat down to a dainty little tea-table, and 
having calmed herself, Fanchette said: “So Dick’s 
father said that to you, did he?” 

“Yes,” replied Eva, “he said that there were 
worse things than work, and you were bringing 
me up for them.” 

“The old beast!” cried Fanchette. “I wonder 
what he considers worse? He made a drudge and 
slave of Dick’s mother until she died from the ef- 
fects of the hardships he heaped upon her. But 
she was his wife, and therefore of less value in his 
eyes than a horse would be if he owned one. I 


EYA. 


123 


tell you, Eva, men are brutes, fiends, every one of 
them. I would rather see you laid in your grave 
than the wife of the best one of them. They no 
sooner become the lawful possessor of a woman 
than they begin to tire of her, and want some 
other, some one who is just be3^ond their reach. 
Some other man’s wife, for instance. They will 
treat their own wife with indifference and contempt, 
sometimes with personal violence, even, because 
she belongs to them. From the moment the knot 
is tied her reign is over and done; from that time 
she becomes second, third, or fourth as the case 
may be, while some woman whom he does not 
own becomes of absorbing interest to his brute 
admiration.” 

Eva looked at her with a little amused smile. 
“How you hate them, don’t you, Fanchette,” she 
said. “I don’t see how you can allow any one of 
them to visit you. I should think your detestation 
of them would show in all your efforts to conceal 
it. How do you manage to deceive them as you 
do? You make them think that you love and ad- 
mire them. How can you?” 

“It is our bread and butter, Eva. My child, 
you will understand some time. I could never have 
kept you so comfortable and well-dressed and paid 
a tutor to instruct you if I had had to go out and 
work for our maintenance. But I had experience 
enough with marriage before I ever took you to 
care for. I have been married three times, and the 
first one was a drunkard and used to come home 
and beat me. The second was a gambler and he 


124 


EYA. 


would leave home for days at a time, when he was 
down on his luck, and if I had no money to buy 
bread with I had to go out and earn it any way I 
could. Then when he was flush he would come 
home and stay a while, until the money was about 
gone, and then decamp again. 

“The third one used to go across the street and 
make love to another woman almost in plain sight 
of my window. When I remonstrated with him 
he choked me and kicked me down stairs. That was 
the last day I lived with him. But after all that 
experience I was foolish enough to get quite fond 
of a man who traveled with a band of Gypsies, 
and I believe I would have been fool enough to 
have married him if he had not served me a low- 
lived trick. That was the man who brought you 
to me, Eva, and begged of me to take you in, 
promising me that he would furnish money for 
your support. He gave me ten dollars down, and 
sent me ten dollars once after that, and asked me 
to move to the city with you, and that was the 
lagt I ever heard from him. He deserted you, 
a helpless infant, and I had to provide for you 
as best I could. 

“Oh, they are a contemptible race, these men. 
All they care for in this world is their own grati- 
fication. If they are comfortable, and their wants 
supplied, they do not care about the sufferings of 
any other creature. Some of them enjoy making 
others suffer.” 

“Do you suppose that man who left me in your 
care was my father?” asked Eva. Her great, dark 


EYA. 


125 


blue eyes were fixed with an expression of horror 
on Fanchette’s face as she listened to her story. 

“No, indeed!” replied Fanchette, scornfully. “Why, 
my dear child, you are no more like him than sun- 
shine is like a dirty fog. 

“There is none of his vile blood in your veins, 
my darling. Of that I feel sure.” 

“But where did he get me? How did I come to 
be in his possession at that age?” 

“That is a mystery I could never fathom, for 
his explanation of why he wished me to take you 
was not very clear, but he took me so by surprise 
that almost before I knew what had happened he 
had left you and the ten dollars and strode out of 
the house. I received a letter from him afterwards, 
containing ten dollars more, and requesting me to 
come to the city, and reside on a certain street he 
named and he would come there to see me soon. 
I did as he requested and never saw or heard from 
him again. But before I had you with me a month 
I loved you so well I would have worked my 
fingers to the bone before I would have given you 
up. But I found that there are easier ways of liv- 
ing than to work and drudge, and after a time I 
moved into a part of the city where I was sur- 
rounded by my own class, the class who have 
learned that men who are stingy and mean with 
their wives are generous with a mistress, and we 
are very comfortable, aren’t we, dearest?” 

Eva rose and going to Fanchette’s chair put her 
arms about her neck and kissed her lovingly. 
“Dear, dear Fanchette,” she said, “if you had been 


126 


EYA. 


less good, and more hard hearted you would have 
sent me to an orphanage or some charitable in- 
stitution and not bothered with me. What a bur- 
den I have been. How kind you have always been 
to me.” 

“You are not a burden, you are the greatest 
comfort and treasure I have in life ! ? ’ cried Fan- 
chette, and something like tears gathered in her 
faded, blue eyes. “But, Eva,” she said, hesitatingly, 
“we will have to economize soon, for my friends 
are not as generous as they once were, and I have 
seen my best days, I fear. I am getting past my 
prime for lovers, and I never was as fascinating 
as you will be. You are going to be a great 
beauty, my dear, and can catch higher game than 
I ever could, even in my best days. I used to be 
pretty, but you will be gloriously beautiful, and 
added to that, you have an air of high breeding 
that cannot fail to win men of higher standing in 
the world than I was ever able to. You will soon 
be old enough to choose a lover for yourself, and 
then we can live better than we do now, for no 
man can resist you, my pet, when you ask him for 
money dr jewels. You will have more than I ever 
had, I am sure.” 

“And then I can keep you in grand style in re- 
turn for what you have done for me, all these 
years. I must have cost you a great deal. But 
have you no idea who I belonged to — who my 
parents were?” 

“No, I haven’t the faintest suspicion of any one. 
I only feel very sure that you came of rich people,. 


EYA. 


127 


for your little garments were very fine, and you 
wore a diamond ring and a baby pin set with real 
pearls, engraved with the name Evangeline. So I 
always called you Eva, but I have not the faintest 
idea who you belonged to. Only one person knows 
and that is the man who brought you to me. If 
he is still living, and we ever find him, we will try 
to get the truth from him. That will be the only 
way we can ever find out.” 

A rap at the door interrupted the conversation, 
and there entered a youth about a year younger 
than Eva. He w T as a beautiful boy, with a bright, 
sunny face and pleasant manner. He carried in 
his arms a dog which he placed gently on the soft 
rug which Eva hastened to bring him for that 
purpose. “Here we are again to beg your protec- 
tion,” he said gaily. “I don’t know what I should 
do with old Tipsy if it wasn’t for you.” 

“Is the old man on the rampage again tonight?” 
asked Fanchette, stooping to pat the dog’s head. 

“Yes,” replied the boy, “I guess you’d think so 
if you were in there,” jerking his thumb in the di- 
rection from which he had come. “If Tip could get 
out of his way like he could when he was a young 
dog, I wouldn’t have to bother you, but he is get- 
ting weaker all the time now, and can’t get out 
of his way, and I’d rather he’d thrash me than to 
lay a finger on him. I’m afraid if he should hurt 
Tip I’d forget that he is my step-father and strike 
him. So to avoid that, it’s better to get out and 
stay out till he cools down.” 

“The old reprobate,” muttered Fanchette, “some- 


128 


EYA. 


body ought to strike him dead. He’s lived too 
long already.” But aloud she said: “Dick, whenever 
you want to come in here and stay with us you 
may rest assured we are glad to have you come 
and bring Tip. Have some supper, do, its still 
warm.” 

“No, thank you,” he laughed, “we have been liv- 
ing high just lately. 

“The old gent had good luck a few days ago 
and got quite a pile, and we’ve been living on the 
top shelf since. He gave me ten dollars when he 
felt good natured, but he will ask for it again 
when this wad is spent, and he gets hard up.” 

“And I hope you won’t be foolish enough to give 
it back to him,” said Fanchette. 

“No, I know better than that. I always tell him 
it’s spent, and he swears and calls me a wasteful 
pup, but I hide the money so he can’t find it and 
then when we are in a pinch I use a little of it 
at a time to get enough for us to eat until he 
strikes luck again, and when I bring home some- 
thing I have bought with it he thinks I have stolen 
or begged it, and then he tells me that I am good 
for something once in a while.” 

“Shall you live with him always, Dick?” asked 
Eva. 

A look of determination flashed into the boy’s 
eyes. “No,” he replied, “I shall take care of my- 
self, and live by myself some day. But I will never 
see him starve. I will help him when he is down 
on his luck, but I shall not live with him much 
longer.” 


EYA. 


129 


“He killed your mother, with hard work and 
abuse,” said Fanchette. “Your mother was a 
lady, and he was the cause of her death just as 
much as though he had taken a knife and cut her 
throat. Did you know that, Dick?” 

“Yes, I have seen him abuse her when I was 
too small to defend her. If I had been as big I am 
now I don’t think he would have things all his 
own way like he used to. But I can remember 
some things that happened when I was a little 
chap, because they frightened me so, I suppose.” 

A loud crash followed by a shout came from the 
direction of the rooms occupied by Dick and his 
step-father. “I guess I’d better go back and see if 
I can persuade him to leave a few things whole. 
I’ll leave Tip here,” Dick said, as he went hastily 
out. 

“If ever a man deserved killing, it’s that old 
wretch!” said Fanchette. “They are all bad enough 
but he is one of the worst. It’s a wonder he hasn’t 
killed Dick in some of his drunken rages.” 

“Dick will look out for him,” said Eva. “I’ll risk 
Dick.” 

About an hour later Dick returned, saying that 
the old gent, as he always called him, had fallen 
into a drunken stupor, and that there would be 
no danger of further violence that night, and tak- 
ing up his dog and thanking them he said “good 
night.” As they were preparing to retire, Eva, who 
had been unusually silent for some minutes, turned 
to Fanchette with a shadow in her lovely eyes. 
“You tell me that all men are bad,” she said. “Do 


130 


EVA. 


you believe when Dick gets to be a man he will be 
bad like all the rest?” 

Fanchette was busy and did not detect the wist- 
ful tone of Eva’s voice and she answered care- 
lessly: “He’ll be just like all the rest when he grows 
up, of course; they are all very much alike, selfish 
and brutal in some way, every mother’s son of 
them.” 

Eva drew a great sigh as she crept into bed. 
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hoped he’d be differ- 
ent.” 

The next evening just after tea, someone knocked 
sharply, and when Fanchette opened the door she 
uttered a cry of surprise. “Why, Will Evers!” she 
cried, swinging the door wide open and grasping the 
hand of the new arrival. “Where on earth did 
you come from?” The man laughed, and advanc- 
ing into the room, took her face between his hands 
and kissed her. “It’s about four years since I was 
here last,” he said, taking the chair she offered 
him, “and I got into town rather late last night, 
and thinking you might have other company, I 
thought I’d wait till tonight before I came to sur- 
prise you. I left here rather unexpectedly four 
years ago. Didn’t have time to bid my friends 
good bye. The police were after me and it hur- 
ried me some to get to the train before they did. 
But it wasn’t anything serious enough to keep me 
away always. I knew it would blow over after a 
bit, so I aint afraid of being meddled with now.” 

Fanchette gave the man a warning glance and 
put her finger to her lips; then turning to Eva she 


EYA. 


131 


said: “Don’t you want to run in and see Dick a 
little while, dear? I think his ‘old gent’ is out, 
and I want to talk over old times with this friend 
and he might want to tell me some secrets which 
he would not want you to hear.” Eva arose, and 
with a charming smile, passed out. 

“By Jove! is that the little girl you used to 
have here when I used to come to see you?” 

“Yes, that is Eva.” 

“She’s a fine looking girl,” he said. “Four years 
add or subtract a good deal sometimes.” His eyes 
unconsciously expressed his thought as they rested 
on the faded and weary countenance opposite him. 
She was quick to see it, and she resented it in her 
heart, but she only smiled and answered: “Yes, I 
know 1 have faded, while Eva has blossomed like 
a rose. Four years does make a great change 
sometimes. It has affected you, too, somewhat. 
You have not escaped entirely.” 

“Oh, I know,” he said testily, “but I am glad to 
say I am in better shape financially than I ever 
was before. I have sort of struck it rich, Fan, and 
now I have come back to take it easy awhile and 
spend some of it. What do you think of that for 
a man that never had anything; isn’t that quite a 
show?” He drew from his pocket a bank book, 
and opening it showed her the figures. 

“Why, Will!” she cried, “how on earth did you 
ever get hold of five thousand dollars?” 

“Never mind how,” he said, proudly, returning 
the book to his pocket. “It is enough to say that 
the police have no reason to hunt me up and that’s 
enough, aint it?” 


132 


EYA. 


“Why, yes,” she said joyously. “I am glad of 
that. What are you going to do with all that?” 

“I’m going to be a gentleman of leisure, and 
spend some of it, I tell you,” he said laughing. 
“What are you going to do with that girl, Fan?” 

“What girl?” she said absently. She was think- 
ing of the figures in the bank book. 

“Why, your girl, Eva. What girl did you think 
I meant?” 

“Oh, I have great plans for Eva. She must win 
some man who can keep her like a princess. I 
shall never consent to let her accept anyone of or- 
dinary means. I want her beauty to bring a high 
bidder.” 

“Has she ever had any ‘friends,’ yet?” he asked 
significantly. 

“No! Good gracious, no!” cried Fanchette. “Why, 
she can’t be more than fifteen and a half, I am 
sure.” 

“Then you don’t know her exact age?” said 
the man, eyeing her curiously. “Say, Fan, where 
did you get her, anyhow? Won’t you tell me?” 

“No, I won’t,” said Fanchette, “for it isn’t any 
of your business. I took her to bring up, to please 
a friend of mine, and I’ll not tell you or anyone 
else who that friend was.” 

“Oh, well, don’t get mad and tear your clothes,” 
he said coarsely. “I don’t care whether you do or 
not. I should think you would be looking out for 
a millionaire to marry her to, you seem to value 
her so highly.” 

“You know very well, Will Evers,” said Fan- 


\ 


EYA. 


133 


chette, flushing with anger, “that millionaires or 
their sons don’t come into such a street as this, 
nor into such houses as mine to choose wives. 
But Eva is good enough to be the wife of a mil- 
lionaire. She is good enough to be the consort of 
a king. You needn’t think for a minute that she 
is guilty because I am. I have kept her so far as 
innocent as a babe. I have never allowed the 
men who come to this house to say a vile word 
before Eva. I have kept her from contact with 
anything low or evil, and I have educated her by 
hiring for her a private tutor, an old man who 
was poor and alone in the world, and who was 
once a professor in a high school, and had seen 
better days. I did not want to send her to the 
public schools because I did not wish her to learn 
a lot of religious twaddle, neither did I propose to 
rear her in ignorance, and the result is she has a 
fine education; has studied everything that is nec- 
essary to fit her for life in this world, and that is 
enough; the next may take care of itself.” 

“What do you intend to do with her? Find her 
a husband?” 

“A husband!” Oh, the scorn expressed in those 
two vrords. “I would rather see her dead than 
married.” 

“Why are you opposed to her marrying?” 

“I have seen enough of marriage,” she said 
bitterly. “I know that a man soon tires of a wo- 
man when once the law says she belongs to him. 
I know that women are abused and neglected if 
they are foolish enough to give a man a legal 


134 


EYA. 


ownership of themselves. It is a man’s nature to 
always want something which does not belong to 
him, and to value less every day that which does. 
I have seen a great deal of that, and I do not 
mean to have Eva, my one pet lamb, fall into any 
such trap as that. If she could marry a millionaire, 
as you suggested, I should raise no objection, be- 
cause if he did tire of her she could always have 
luxuries and there would be no danger of her com- 
ing to want. But it is impossible for her to ever 
marry a millionaire for the reasons I before stated — 
that millionaires are not looking for wives in places 
of such a reputation as this — and as for her mar- 
rying a man in ordinary circumstances, she never 
shall, if I can prevent it, for when he had owned 
her for awhile he would neglect and abuse her and 
spend his money on other women, and if he had 
any bad luck financially, he would vent all his 
spite and ill-nature on her, and the chances would 
be she would be compelled to work like a slave in 
the bargain. Oh, I know what marriage is, and I 
tell you it is the biggest fraud which was ever 
perpetrated upon suffering humanity.” 

Will Evers leaned back in his chair and laughed 
long and loud. “Why, Fan,” he cried merrily, 
“you don’t see but one side of the matrimonial 
question, that’s sure. Why, in this country a wo- 
man has every advantage over a man. The law 
gives her almost everything. If a man marries he 
is obliged to support his wife or go to jail. If he 
runs away she can have him arrested and brought 
back, and if he strikes her or even uses vile and 


EVA. 


135 


profane language, she can have him arrested for 
that. I think it is the man who should look be- 
fore he leaps into marriage. Yours is the winning 
side in that game, sure.” 

“Oh, I know there is truth in what you say,” 
said Fanchette, “but still the advantage of having 
the power of the law on the wife’s side does not 
prevent him from behaving in the most detestable 
manner to her.” 

“Why, Fan,” he cried, “I know of lots of men 
today who hate the sight of their wives, but they 
are obliged to abide by their bargain and support 
them just the same.” 

Fanchette laughed. “There. You are defeated in 
the argument by your own statement. You say 
you know lots of men who hate their own wives. 
That is just what I claimed. Men do hate and 
detest their own wives, after they have owned 
them long enough to tire of them, and they grudg- 
ingly hand out the money for their support be- 
cause they are compelled to by law, when if they 
could do as they desire, they would spend that 
money with pleasure and without a protest on a 
new favorite who did not belong to them. I tell 
you I know of instances where a man having a 
sweet, pretty, refined wife in his home, prefers to 
spend his time and lavish his caresses and money 
on a woman who has no legal claim upon him. 
And he does not tire of her so quickly because he 
knows she is not legally his, and he does not feel 
so sure of her. He always has the fear that some 
other man will win her away from him. But the 


136 


EYA. 


chief charm lies in the fact that he has no right to 
her. I have taught Eva that of all the pitfalls to 
be avoided in this world, marriage is the most 
dangerous.” 

“But what are you going to do with this girl? 
You say she is perfectly innocent and knows noth- 
ing of lovers. And you say she shall not marry. 
Do you mean to keep her shut up somewhere to 
keep her away from men?” 

“Oh, no. I expect she will accept the attention 
and money of some man, sometime, when one 
comes along who has lots of money to spend on 
her. She will learn what that kind of life is some- 
time, but not married life, if I can prevent it. If 
some man whom she will accept will keep her in 
comfort and luxury I shall be glad to have her 
meet that one, but she is young yet, and there is 
time enough.” 

A sudden light leaped into the man’s eyes. “Oh 
I see!” he exclaimed. “You propose to have her 
live a life of freedom and unrestraint. To follow 
in your footsteps.” 

“I propose to have her get all the enjoyment 
out of life which she can and make the most of 
her opportunities without fettering herself in a 
hateful bond, from which she cannot free herself 
instantly if she should so desire. Freedom is every- 
thing in life.” 

“Well, Fan, I don’t blame you for looking at it 
as you do. You had a pretty hard time of it with 
your three lawful husbands. But I am glad to 
find you again, and renew the old friendship. 


EYA. 


137 


“Will you and Eva go with me to the theater 
tomorrow night?” 

“We will, with pleasure, and thank you too.” 

“Very well, then, I will come for you at the 
proper time. And Fan,” — “Yes?” she said inquir- 
ingly, “here is a little present for the sake of old 
times.” He laid a gold piece in her hand, and she 
thanked him warmly, as he bade her good night 
and bowed himself out. 


CHAPTER IX 

He came for them the next night, bringing with 
him a large bunch of meteor roses, and felt well 
repaid by Eva’s cry of delight, when he presented 
the rich, red blossoms. She took them in her 
hands and held them lovingly to her sweet face, 
while he watched her with glowing eyes. Then 
bringing a vase and filling it with water, she 
placed them carefully in it, and set them on an 
-elegant little stand. 

“Don’t you want to carry them with you to- 
night?” he said. 

“And have them droop their lovely heads in the 
heat at the theater? No indeed,” she replied. 
“They are too beautiful to be allowed to die sooner 
than need be. Here we can enjoy them for two or 
three days. Can’t we, Fanchette?” 

“Just as you like, my pet,” answered Fanchette, 
with an indulgent smile. She was feeling very 
well satisfied with the behavior of this man, whom 
she had known in other years, and who had come 
back to renew old ties of friendship, with a bank 
book with five thousand dollars to his credit in- 
side. She felt disposed to smile on him, and she 
had dressed herself and Eva in the very best their 


EYA. 


139 


wardrobes could furnish, to do him honor tonight. 
Fanchette looked quite handsome in a gown of 
black lace, and Eva was like a vision in a soft, 
white mull with blue ribbons. 

That he appreciated every detail of their toilettes 
could be seen by the expression in his eyes, and 
Fanchette knew they had made a favorable im- 
pression, even before he whispered as he put them 
in the carriage: “You are making me proud and 
happy tonight, you both look so lovely.” 

All the evening his eyes followed Eva’s every 
look and action, and when he bade them good 
night at their own door, after a dainty little sup- 
per following the theater, he asked if he might call 
the next night, and received from Fanchette a 
smiling assent. As they were preparing to retire, 
she said to Eva, “How do you like Mr. Evers?” 
and Eva replied that she thought him very kind 
and polite, and that she had enjoyed the evening 
very much. 

“I am glad you like him,” said Fanchette, “for 
he is an old and valued friend of mine, and he can 
make it very pleasant for us, Eva, for he has lots 
of money and he may as well spend it on us as on 
someone else, see?” 

“I see,” said Eva, laughing. “Oh, Fanchette, 
all you care for men is their money and what they 
will give you.”' 

Fanchette’s face grew hard and stern. “That is 
all there is to care for,” she said. “Always man- 
age to get all you can from them, my dear, for 
remember, all they care for us women is to amuse 


140 


EYA. 


themselves with us, to gratify their own selfish- 
ness. 

“While a woman is young and attractive, they 
enjoy her beauty, but when that beauty is gone, 
and she becomes old and faded and wrinkled, they 
turn from her with a shudder of disgust, and she 
might then starve in a garret for all they would 
care.” 

Eva took her kitten in her arms and crept into 
bed. “I’m sure you must know all about it, 
Fanchette,” she said, “for you have seen a great 
deal of life; as for me I am sure I shall never care 
for any of them; though I like Dick, dear old 
Dick, but then, he’s only a boy.” 

The next evening Mr. Evers called again, and 
when Fanchette would have sent Eva to stay 
awhile with Dick he surprised her by asking that 
she be allowed to remain. “For I can stay but a 
short time, tonight,” he said, “and I want to see 
you both.” He took a box of Huyler’s candies 
from his coat pocket and presented it, and they 
set the box on the little stand where his roses still 
stood, and thanked him for his kind thoughtful- 
ness. 

No one would have thought Fanchette a man- 
hater that night, as she exerted herself to be agree- 
able to this man, with whom she chatted and 
laughed, and to whom she paid subtle, half-veiled 
compliments, which were very pleasing to him. 
Eva said little; speaking only when spoken to, 
and sitting, most of the time on a low hassock, 
fondling and playing with her kitten. She would 


EYA. 


141 


have much preferred to be in Dick’s rooms, she 
thought, but she would not be impolite to this 
man who had given them so much pleasure, and 
who had expressed a wish for her to stay. She 
glanced up occasionally, to find his eyes fixed up- 
on her with a look of intense admiration, but she 
neither blushed nor smiled. “What was his ad- 
miration to her?” and then, “perhaps it was only 
his natural way of looking at people. Perhaps it 
was his way of trying to look pleasant.” At last 
he addressed a remark directly to her. 

“Your kitten is a very fortunate animal, Miss 
Eva,” he said. “I think I should like to be in his 
shoes for a while. I am sure I should enjoy it.” 

“Would you like to chase a spool and play with 
a string?” she said, smiling, “if you would we can 
have a frolic, and you may play you are a kit- 
ten. I’m sure I should get lots of amusement out 
of it.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he replied. “It oc- 
curred to me that if 1 could only be a kitten you 
might put your arms around me, and hold me to 
vour heart once in a while as you do him.” 

He expected she would blush and look conscious 
and confused, but she did nothing of the kind. 
She was conscious of a faint feeling of repulsion; 
that was all. She raised her head with a slight 
hauteur, and her violet eyes looked coolly into his 
shifting ones. “I suppose you know that little 
word ‘if has stood for more failures in this world 
than any other word of its size in the English 
language,” was all she said. 


142 


EVA. 


He understood that he had made a mistake some- 
how, and turned his conversation to incidents 
which he had witnessed in his travels, and he be- 
came so entertaining that Eva began to listen 
with interest to his description of places and people. 
He took his departure in good season, and said he 
should do himself the honor to call again soon. 

Three evenings later he called, and from his man- 
ner Fanchette felt that there was something on 
his mind which he hardly knew how to put into 
words. There was an uneasy shift to his eyes 
when they met hers, and a restraint of manner 
which indicated an unsettled state of mind. She 
sent Eva into Dick’s apartments, greatly to that 
young lady’s relief, and then turning to the man, 
she said, looking him straight in the eyes: “There 
is something on your mind, Will, what is it? Tell 
me.” 

“Oh, it is nothing very much,” he replied. 

“Tell me what it is,” she repeated. “You may 
as well out with it, for I will know,” placing her 
hands on his shoulders and looking at him search- 
ing^- 

“I want Eva,” he blurted out as though com- 
pelled by the power of her gaze. “Oh, forgive me, 
Fan, I should not have said that but you forced 
me to answer.” 

He expected she would feel hurt and resentful, and 
he thought he would not blame her if she should, 
for it could not be pleasant for her to have a man 
whom she had known for years and been fond of, 
and with whom she had lived a life of abandon- 


EYA. 


143 


ment, transfer his affections to a younger and 
fairer favorite. He felt sorry for her, and hoped 
she would not take the news too much to heart, 
for he had set his mind most determinedly to the 
task of winning Eva, and it was very embarrass- 
ing to have to tell this woman, whom he had 
loved in the past, that he desired her younger and 
fairer companion to take her place in his affections. 
He hoped Fan would not cry or go into hysterics. 
That would make him feel very uncomfortable, and 
he was uncomfortable enough now. He expected 
bitter reproaches, and perhaps a tirade of abuse. 
What then was his amazement when Fanchette 
laughed a little scornfully, and said coolly: 

“How much will you give her if she will consent 
to live with you? What do you propose to offer 
to make it an object to her? Have you ever con- 
sidered that she may refuse absolutely, and that 
no amount you may offer will induce her to accept 
you? You have never hinted any such thing to her, 
yet; how do you know you will not fail? If she 
wants you, I’m sure I am willing, provided you 
do the handsome thing by her. I would as soon 
give her to you as to any man I know, if she will 
consent.” 

It was now his turn to feel piqued. He was con- 
scious of a feeling of resentment and injury. That 
this woman could give him up so coolly, could 
even laugh about it, angered him. His self-esteem 
had received a stunning blow. He looked down at 
the smiling face of the woman before him, and felt 
almost like striking her. How could she take his* 


144 


EYA. 


unfaithfulness so calmly? It couldn’t be that she 
cared a straw for him. Now was his chance to 
make her wince. He drew away with an injured 
air and said sadly, “I only did this to test you, 
Fan, and see if you cared for me; but I see you 
don’t, or you would not give me up so willingly. 
I had no thought of winning Eva, I just said so 
to see what you would do, but now that I know 
you don’t care for me, I will try to win her. There 
is no use of my wasting any more love on you, 
when you can turn me over to another woman 
and laugh about it.” 

Fanchette laughed again, and going up to him, 
gave him a pat on the cheek. “Now, Will,” she 
said, “don’t do any heroics on my account. Do 
you think I’m a fool? Do you think I am blind? 
You have followed Eva with your eyes ever since 
you came, and eyes can express a great deal. I 
knew you were fascinated with her, and I have 
been expecting you would ask for her. Don’t try 
to lie out of it, for you can’t deceive me at all. 
You are perfectly enraptured with Eva, and I have 
seen it from the first. Don’t blame me for my in- 
difference, Will, for I have lived this kind of life so 
long, I am tired to death of everything and every- 
body. All I live for is Eva. She is the only living 
creature on this earth that I love. We might as 
well understand each other first as last.” 

“All right, Fan,” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt 
your feelings, but you hurt me when you gave me 
up so willingly. But it’s all right. If you will 
speak a good word for me to Eva, I will do the 


EYA. 


145 


generous thing by her. As long as my money lasts 
we will live well and enjoy ourselves. Won’t you 
try and influence her to like me?” 

“I’ll do the best I can for you, but I can’t prom- 
ise for her. She must choose for herself.” 

“She is so young and innocent and sweet, I will 
marry her, Fan, if she will have me. I will give 
her my name in lawful marriage.” 

“No you won’t!” said Fanchette, “if I have the 
power to prevent it. If Eva wants to live with 
you, and help you spend you money, she may; but 
when it comes to manwing you, taking you for 
better or worse, richer or poorer, to love, honor, 
and obey, she never shall. Eva shall never be the 
legal slave of any man. When she gets tired of 
her bargain she can leave you, and be free to go 
where she pleases. Marry you! Never!” 

“Oh, very well,” he said testily, “it shall be as 
you like. I only thought I was paying a compli- 
ment to her by offering to marry her, but the other 
arrangement will suit me perfectly.” 

He came again the next night, bringing another 
bunch of hot-house flowers, and watched with 
satisfaction, Eva’s delight in the beautiful blos- 
soms. When he saw how carefully she preserved 
them, and with what regret she saw them fade, 
he flattered himself at first that perhaps she cher- 
ished them on his account, and he began to look 
the admiration he felt, and show his preference for 
her in a thousand little ways, expecting she would 
show some sign that she reciprocated it; but Eva’s 
manner toward him was entirely free from co- 


146 


EVA. 


quettery. She neither blushed or smiled when she 
encountered his ardent glances, and he began to 
perceive that she was still an innocent, unawak- 
ened child. 

As he saw her day after day, his desire to pos- 
sess her became an all-absorbing passion. When 
he saw that she was indifferent to him in her 
childish innocence, the wish that he might be the 
one to teach her the power of love — as he inter- 
preted it — grew stronger with every hour of his 
acquaintance with her. Fanchette gave him all the 
encouragement she could by throwing Eva into 
his company as much as possible, and she praised 
him to her when he had gone. But Eva remained 
calm and indifferent to all this, treating him in a 
frank and unaffected manner, which attracted him 
as nothing else would have done. 

One day he came as usual, just after sunset, and 
Eva noticed that he carried something in his closed 
hand. He laughingly told her to hold her hand 
and shut her eyes. She held out her hand but did 
not close her eyes as he had requested, and he 
placed in her palm a little live sparrow which be- 
gan to struggle for freedom. 

“On my way here I passed by a place where 
there was a fire, and some sparrows had been 
overcome by the smoke, just enough to disable 
them for flying, and were fluttering on the ground,, 
so I picked up one and brought it along for you 
to give to your kitten.” 

Eva’s hands closed gently about the struggling 
little bird, and going quickly to the open window 


EYA. 


147 


she set the little captive free. As he flew away 
with a chirp of relief, she turned toward the man 
and there was a light in her blue eyes which he 
did not like to see. “Why didn’t you give it to 
your kitten? He would have had a great time 
with it,” he said, feeling rather uncomfortable. 

“If I had a pet tiger do you think I would feed 
him on live babies?” she asked, and turning ab- 
ruptly she left the room. Going into the apart- 
ment where Fanchette sat sewing, she said: “If you 
want that man to be entertained you will have to 
entertain him yourself, for I will not.” 

Fanchette looked up wonderingly at the tone of 
her voice. “Why, what is the trouble now?” she 
asked. 

“Nothing, except that I don’t like him,” said 
Eva. “He brought in a little live bird for the kit- 
ten to play with. I shall never like him any more. 
He is heartless and cruel.” She passed on through 
the room and going out into the corridor made 
her way to Dick’s apartments. 

Fanchette laid down her sewing and went into 
the room where Eva had left their guest. He looked 
at her uneasily. “You have made a bad blunder,” 
she said. “You might have known better than 
to have done this. If you had risked your life to 
save some bird or dog or cat, you would have 
made a great impression on Eva; but now it will 
be up-hill work for you to regain her confidence. 
I am sorry you made such a mistake.” 

“Can’t you intercede for me, Fan? I tell you I 
must have that girl. If you will do all that you 


148 


EYA. 


can to help me, I will give you five hundred dol- 
lars the day she is mine.” 

‘Til do what I can,” she replied, “for I need 
money as badly as anybody; but if you go on 
blundering in this fashion, you will certainly lose 
the game in spite of all I can do.” 

“I’ll be more careful,” he said. “I never thought. 
I knew she loved her kitten, and I thought that 
whatever pleased him would please her.” 

“That is where you made your mistake,” said 
Fanchette. “Eva loves her kitten, it is true, but 
she is not even willing that he should catch a 
mouse. I believe she would go out of her way to 
keep him from treading on a worm. You don’t 
know what a tender little heart she has for all 
creatures. There is nothing which arouses her in- 
dignation so much as to see the strong tyrannize 
over the weak.” 

“I’ll remember that, and not offend again,” he 
said. 

In the meantime, in Dick’s room, Eva and Dick 
were deep in the mysteries of a book of ghost 
stories, and the episode of the bird and kitten were 
for the time forgotten. 

“Oh! how I would like to see a haunted house,” 
said Eva. “How I wish we could find one some- 
where and go and spend a night in it. Wouldn’t 
that be fine?” 

“I saw a haunted house once,” replied Dick, “but 
you wouldn’t catch anybody that lived near there 
going there nights.” 

“Oh! where was it? Tell me about it!” demanded 
Eva, excitedly. 


EYA. 


149 


“It was five years ago,” said Dick. “It was be- 
fore I came to live in this house. I was one of a 
lot of fresh air kids that were sent out into the 
country one summer, and the little village where I 
went was called Greendell, and out on one side of 
the village was an old haunted house. I know, 
’cause I saw it myself.” 

“Did you go into it?” she asked breathlessly. 

“In the daytime we did. Some of the boys that 
lived in Greendell went with me, but they were 
afraid, even in the daytime, and you couldn’t have 
hired ’em to go there at night for they knew so 
many that had been scared half to death that they 
wouldn’t risk it.” 

“How I would like to see it,” sighed Eva. 

“It is a long way from here,” said Dick. “We 
took a train and traveled two hours, and then 
there was a big wagon waiting at the station 
where we got off the train, and we got in and 
that carried us ten miles into the country before 
we came to the village they called Greendell. But 
oh, the country was so fine and the people there 
were awful good to us.” 

“Eva!” called a familiar voice, and Eva ran to 
the door. “Come, dear,” called Fanchette. “Mr. 
Evers has gone.” 

As they prepared to retire, Fanchette said: “I am 
sorry you are so offended with Mr. Evers. He felt 
very much cut up about it. I wish you would try 
and accept his attentions, Eva, for he has plenty 
of money and can give you so much. And you 
know I told you that you could get a lover who 


150 


EYA. 


had money, because you are growing so beautiful. 
Now is your chance, Eva, to make hay while the 
sun shines. This man has five thousand dollars 
and is perfectly charmed with you. Just think how 
many pretty dresses and what lots of pleasure you 
could get from a lover who can afford to do the 
generous thing by you as he can.” 

“I don’t like him,” said Eva, “and I don’t care if 
he has fifty thousand dollars. If you want me to 
have a lover you must let me have one that I can 
like. I don’t want anything Mr. Evers can buy 
me. I would rather not have any new dresses 
than to take them from him, and I would not 
enjoy any places of amusement if I had to go with 
him. I would much prefer to stay at home.” 

“Won’t you try to tolerate him just to please 
me, dearest?” said Fanchette. “I have had to do 
unpleasant things a great many times for you, 
that you might be comfortable. Just try to like 
him, my pet, and perhaps it will be easier than 
you think. He adores you. Won’t you try?” 

Eva threw her arms about Fanchette and kissed 
her lovingly. “Dear, dear Fanchette,” she said, 
“I will try just to please you. How good you 
have always been to me. I will try to like him a 
little for your sake.” 

“I thought you would do that much if I asked 
you, my pet, for you were always such a sweet, 
obedient child. I am only advising you now for 
your good, for we are growing poorer every day, 
and your beauty will be all we will have to de- 
pend on soon. If I could provide for you as I 


EYA. 


151 


once could, I would not ask this of you, Eva, but 
my best days are over and I am on the shady 
side now, so far as beauty goes, but even at my 
best, I was never beautiful like you.” 

The next evening when Will Evers made his ap- 
pearance Eva was watching from a window and 
saw him coming through the back yards from the 
next street. He leaped the fence which enclosed 
the little yard where Pat O’Leary raised a few to- 
matoes, and a dozen heads of cabbage, and run- 
ning up the steps, knocked on the door. Eva ad- 
mitted him, and something in her gentle, subdued 
manner, gave him courage. She had promised 
Fanchette that she would try to like him, and now 
she was trying to keep her dislike for him from 
showing in her manner. He took her hand, and 
looking very penitent said: “Have you forgiven 
me for my thoughtlessness? You don’t know how 
sorry I am.’’ 

She drew her hand away gently and said: “I 
will try and forget it. I hope you are not in- 
tentionally cruel.” 

“I think you could make a saint of any man if 
you would use you influence with him,” he cried. 
“You don’t know how lovely you are, and what a 
power a beautiful girl has over a man who loves 
her as I love you.” 

He advanced again and seized her hand. She re- 
treated a step or two and looked up at him with 
frightened eyes. But he was eager to make the 
most of his opportunity and he drew her suddenly 
to him, folded her in his arms and in spite of her 


152 


EYA. 


frantic struggles to release herself from his hated 
embrace, kissed her half a dozen times. 

With all the strength of her young arms she 
pushed him from her, and taking her handkerchief, 
wiped the spots where his unwelcome kisses had 
left their impress. Then going to the window she 
flung the handkerchief out into the street, and 
turning to him with flashing eyes she said in a 
low, intense voice, “Don’t you ever dare touch me 
again.’’ 

He was somewhat taken aback by her repulsion 
of him. He had thought, encouraged by her gentle 
manner, that the victory was about won, and now 
she was standing before him with the air of an 
offended queen, while her blue eyes seemed to 
flash fire. He did not know what to make of it, 
and while he stood hesitating what to do next, 
she turned suddenly, without another word, and 
went out. 

Passing on through the other rooms of the suite 
and seeing nothing of Fanchette, she went out in- 
to the corridor and made her way to Dick’s apart- 
ments. She found him busily engaged in getting 
his supper over the little stove. He looked up as 
she entered in response to his “come in,” and the 
gay greeting died on his lips when he saw her 
flushed face and glowing eyes. 

“Why, Eva,” he said anxiously, “what is the 
matter? What has happened?” 

Then her feelings gave way and she burst into a 
shower of tears. Dick left his supper to burn black, 
forgetting everything else in his distress at Eva’s 


EYA. 


153 


tears, and as he tried to comfort her, he questioned 
her anxiously to learn the cause of her grief. She 
told him all about it and Dick’s honest, brown 
eyes burned with indignation, and his hands in- 
voluntarily clenched as he listened. 

“If I was a man I’d lick the beastly wretch with- 
in an inch of his life,” he said when he had heard 
it all. “Did Fanchette know about it?” 

“Fanchette was not there. She had gone out 
somewhere. I could not find her, and I wasn’t 
going to stay in there with him another minute. 
Oh, Dick, I can’t tell you how I felt when he 
kissed me. I never hated anyone so in my life be- 
fore. Something rose up in my throat and I felt as 
though I could kill him right there.” 

“He ought to be killed,” declared Dick. “It would 
serve him right, and Eva, if Fanchette don’t put 
a stop to his coming there, you will have to come 
and stay here.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Dick. You forget about 
your step-father. He wouldn’t have me here, and 
I wouldn’t want to be where he is. That would 
never do.” 

“That’s so,” replied Dick. “I never thought of 
him. But what will you do if Fanchette does not 
forbid him to come to the house? You can’t be 
tormented like this.” 

Eva went to the window and stood looking out, 
while Dick returned to his scorched and blackened 
supper. There was silence for a few minutes, 
broken only by the rattle of the cooking utensils 
and the snoring of the old dog, Tipsy, who lay on 
his bed behind the stove. 


154 


EYA. 


At last Eva spoke. “’Ill tell you what well do, 
Dick. You’ll help me, I know. If he comes again 
tomorrow evening, we will go down and unfasten 
Pat O’Leary’s bull dog, and when he goes through 
there he’ll get his just deserts. He won’t be able 
to come again very soon if that dog gets a good 
hold of him.” 

Dick laughed. “I guess that’s no joke,” he said. 
“But how are we going to unfasten him and .get 
away before he gets hold of us? He’s an ugly 
brute to manage.” 

“I thought of that. We will have to get a 
thick stick and brace it up against the door of the 
kennel. Then we will have a cord attached to the 
stick. We can unfasten the chain that holds the 
kennel door, after we get the stick put up to hold 
it, and after we get back over the fence we can 
pull the cord and jerk the stick away and that 
will leave the door so that the dog can push it 
right open. The brute will just rave when he hears 
us about his kennel, and the minute he can push 
the door open he will come out like a roaring 
lion, and as soon as he has the range of the yard 
I wouldn’t give much to be in Mr. Evers’ shoes 
when he attempts to cross it.” 

“He’ll be minus some of his clothes, and perhaps 
a chunk or two of flesh,” said Dick, smiling. Then 
growing serious he said: “The dog might kill him, 
did you think of that?” 

“Oh, the dog won’t kill him, but he’ll bite him, 
probably; but that is his lookout. If he would 
keep away from here he wouldn’t get hurt. If he 


EYA 


155 


will persist in coming, he must take the conse- 
quences. I want the dog to scare him so he’ll keep 
away.” 

“All right,” said Dick,” we’ll do as you propose 
and see if that will keep him away. But if that 
fails, what will you do?” 

“Oh! I don’t know,” she cried. “What shall I do, 
Dick?” 

“Well, if everything else fails, you will have to 
leave home, and see if that will bring Fanchette to 
her senses. I blame her for allowing him to come 
there when she knows you don’t want him. Why 
don’t she shut him out?” 

“She is dazzled b}^ his money,” said Eva “She 
wants me to accept him as a lover because he has 
five thousand dollars. She means well. She thinks 
his money can do us so much good. But I tell 
you, Dick, I wouldn’t have him if he was worth a 
million. I hate him and I will never let him touch 
my hand again.” 

“Good for you, Eva! I’ll stand by you, and do 
everything I can to help you get rid of him. 
Maybe it would be a good thing if Pat O’Leary’s 
bull-dog would eat him up.” 


CHAPTER X. 


Jessamine Erlwin had returned to her palatial 
city home, but she was not destined to forget her 
experience in Greendell, for in about a week after 
her arrival, Ernest Grayland called and sent up his 
card. Fortunately for Jessamine, her father was 
not at home, and her aunt had gone to her own 
room with a severe headache, and orders not to 
be disturbed, so Jessamine went down to the draw- 
ing-room alone, and greeted her caller with an air 
which put him at his ease at once. 

“You are looking well, Miss Erlwin,” he said, as 
she gave him her hand. “I think it must agree 
with you to sojourn in the country.” He glanced 
about to see if anyone else was within hearing, 
and she, divining his thoughts, said with a smile, 
“You may say what you please. There is no one 
to hear us. I am fortunate today, for papa is out 
and auntie is in her room, so there is no one to 
ask me where I made your acquaintance, Mr. Gray- 
land.” 

“Oh, but our acquaintance is not to end here, I 
hope,” he said. “We must be prepared for that 
question, so that when they do ask it, you can 
tell them something entirely satisfactory. Suppose 


EYA. 


157 


you tell them that your friend in Greendell made 
you acquainted with me when I was on a business 
trip through that region. That would not be an 
untruth, for if your friend, Miss Lexington, had 
not gone with you to the haunted house we should 
not have met when we did, for you would not 
have ventured there alone. So she did, indirectly, 
make us acquainted, see?” 

“I see,” said Jessamine, “and that will be a very 
ingenious way to explain it to their satisfaction. 
Papa will be very pleased to make j r our acquaint- 
ance, I am sure, for I have often heard him speak 
of your father in glowing terms. So I know he will 
be pleased to meet his son.” 

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I shall be 
more than pleased to meet him also. And now, 
before anyone comes in, I want to return 3^our loan, 
with many thanks.” He placed in her hand the 
amount she had loaned him and she dropped the 
money in a little box on the mantel. 

“Now, Miss Erlwin, I have a strange story to 
tell you. if you will allow me to trespass upon your 
time. Were you going out or expecting guests this 
afternoon? If you were, the story can wait. But 
I am anxious to have you hear it soon.” 

“No, I had nothing on hand for this afternoon. 
You could not have chosen a more favorable time. 
And now you have aroused my curiosity, I am 
anxious to hear the story.” 

“It is a story that will make the haunted house 
of greater interest to us all,” he said, and he re- 
lated to Jessamine the confession of ■ftie man at 


158 


EYA. 


the Gypsy camp. He told her how he had received 
a note requesting him to come out there and come 
alone, and gave her every word, as nearly as he 
could remember, of the dying man’s deposition. 

Jessamine listened with the greatest interest ex- 
pressed in her glowing eyes, and never once inter- 
rupted him during his narration of all the events 
connected with the murder of his aunt, his uncle’s 
death, and the abduction of the child, Evangeline. 
But her eyes spoke volumes, and when he had 
finished she said: 

“I had heard the story as it was told in the vil- 
lage, but no one there ever supposed for an instant 
that the child was not dead. And just to think 
that it was your own cousin, and that for all you 
know to the contrary, she is living somewhere in 
•the world today. Are you going to try to find 
her?” 

“I shall turn my whole attention to it, “he re- 
plied, “but I do not want to make it public, for I 
do not want to be bothered with impostors who 
are always ready to come up and claim anything 
they think there is any money in, and Evangeline 
will have a fortune of a million at least, in her 
own right, and perhaps more. My father would 
know how much, so you see, Miss Erlwin, why I 
do not care to make it public until after she is 
found, and then she will take her proper place in 
the world. I only hope she has fallen into good 
hands. My greatest fear is that she has been 
reared in ignorance and vice. But she would now 
be about fifteen years and a few months of age,. 


EVA. 


159 


so if she has not been too badly spoiled, there will 
be a chance of remedying the damage to some ex- 
tent. And if she has fallen into good hands and 
been well trained, what a satisfaction it will be. 
But whether in good or evil surroundings, she 
must be found. ” 

“Be of good cheer,” said Jessamine. “If you be- 
lieved as thoroughly in heredity as I do you would 
not be so alarmed about her. I am a firm believer 
in the old adage, ‘blood will tell.’ She comes of a 
fine family, and she will inherit the general charac- 
teristics of her race. Therefore, she will not fall as 
readily into evil ways; that is, she will not become 
low or vile, because her nature will revolt against 
those things. Do you understand me?” 

“Perfectly,” he replied, “and you have encouraged 
me. I had not thought of that, I confess, but there 
is much in what you say. I believe in inherited 
traits, myself, but it had not occurred to me in 
this case. I was thinking only of the training she 
might receive. I thank you for calling my atten- 
tion to a fact which no one can deny, and which 
casts a more cheerful light on the matter.” 

“And now there is another thing which perhaps 
you do not know in regard to this,” said Jessa- 
mine. “They told me that the nurse who took 
care of baby Evangeline, still lives in the house 
near the western gate, within the grounds of the 
haunted house. That your father gave them per- 
mission to live there and work some of the land 
for their maintenance. The people in Greendell 
think her a little unbalanced mentally, because she: 


160 


EYA. 


has declared for years that her mistress, Evange- 
line’s mother, appears to her in her dreams and 
tells her that the child is living and will come home 
some day. Isn’t that strange?” 

“Well, that is worth knowing,” he exclaimed. 
“The man never mentioned that. Perhaps he did 
not know it. Yes, it is unaccountably strange. I 
must see this woman right away. Perhaps she 
can give me some clue by which I will be able to 
identify my cousin when I do find her.” 

“And did your father never tell you anything 
about this family tragedy? Did he never mention 
it that you can remember?” 

“Never. I had never heard a whisper of it before 
the day I went to the Gypsy camp. But then, my 
father is a peculiar man. He is entirely taken up 
with studies of old Egyptian tombs and monu- 
ments, and I was only eight years old when this 
thing occurred, so that is the reason I never knew 
of it. Since I left college I have traveled nearly all 
the time, and you can see why it never reached my 
ears. When I tell my father that the child whom 
he supposed was strangled, and buried in a name- 
less grave in the woods, is alive, and her fate un- 
known, he will tell me to leave no means untried 
to find her. He will be as anxious to have her re- 
stored to her rightful place as though she was his 
own. And now I must go. I have made my call 
unpardonably long, especially for the first. I hope 
you will forgive me and grant me the privilege of 
making another, soon.” 

“Oh, I am so interested in all this,” said Jessa- 


EYA. 


161 


mine, raising her bright, brown eyes, and just now 
they were glowing with the intensity of her feel- 
ings, making his pulses leap. “I am so glad you 
told me all about it, and you will let me know 
from time to time what success you are having, 
will you not? I shall be anxious to hear, and if 
there is anything I can do to help you, you will 
let me do it, won’t you? I believe you said that 
the woman’s name was Fanny Dumond?” 

“That was the name she was known by at the 
time little Evangeline was left in her care,” he 
said. “Indeed I will let you help me if you can, 
and I thank you sincerely, Miss Erlwin, for all 
your sympathy and encouragement. I will let you 
know how the case progresses, as the detectives 
say. You will hear from me often.” He bowed 
himself out and, going straight home, ordered his 
horse, ate a hurried lunch, and was soon on his 
way to Greendell. 

It was bedtime for the good people of the little 
village by the time he reached the place, so he 
went directly to the little inn and put up for the 
night. After breakfast the next morning, he started 
out on foot to pay a visit to the woman who 
had been Evangeline’s nurse. He was the target 
for many curious eyes as he strolled through the 
village streets, and many were the comments on 
his aristocratic appearance, and conjectures as to 
what brought him there, but no one was any the 
wiser, for he asked no questions of anyone, prefer- 
ring to find the house to which he was going by 
the description Jessamine had given him, than to 


162 


EYA. 


gratify any of the rustic curiosity by inquiring the 
way. So he walked leisurely to the entrance to 
the grounds surrounding the haunted house, and 
then, turning in a westerly direction, he followed 
the iron fence which encircled them until he came 
to a gate and a small house, almost hidden by trees, 
and going up to the house door, rapped lightly. 
There was the sound of hurried footsteps inside, 
then the door was opened by a little woman who 
looked at him inquiringly without speaking a word. 

He had not thought until that instant that he had 
never learned the woman’s name. In his preoccu- 
pation of mind he had neglected that, and now he 
was momentarily at a loss what to say; but 
there was no help for it, he must say something, 
so he raised his hat politely and asked if she could 
tell him whether the woman who had been nurse to 
Evangeline Grayland lived there. He was not pre- 
pared for the effect of his words upon the woman. 
She gasped, turned deathly pale, and swayed so 
that he feared she was going to faint. At length 
she pressed her hand to her heart as though to 
quiet its wild beating, and gasped out. 

“Oh! It has come at last! I knew it would! The 
great day I have waited for so long. Come in, 
kind sir, and pardon my agitation. I have looked 
for this hour so long, that now it has come, I am 
faint with joy.” 

She led the way into a cozy little sitting-room, 
placed a chair for him, and dropping weakly into 
another, sat opposite him. She still held her hand 
to her heart, but, though she was still ghastly pale* 


EYA. 


163 


she breathed more freely, and he could see that she 
was quieting herself by a powerful effort of will. 

“I am sorry I startled you so,” he said gently. 
“I never thought of its affecting you so. I was told 
that the woman who was nurse to the little Evan- 
geline Grayland lived in a house by the western 
gate, so I thought this must be the house, but I 
was not sure, and I did not know the name, so I 
called to inquire. 

“Yes, yes,” said the woman impatiently. “I am 
the nurse, and this is the house. Tell me quickly 
what news you have of my lost baby. I can’t en- 
dure this suspense.” 

“Then you think her lost, not dead, as other 
people do?” he asked. He was beginning to feel 
somewhat agitated himself, as he watched this 
woman’s intense excitement. 

She leaned toward him and laid her trembling 
hand on the arm of his chair. “I know she is not 
dead,” she said, in a low intense tone. “I have 
known it for years. Every year since that awful 
night, on its anniversary, my mistress has appeared 
to me in my dreams, and said to me clearly and 
distinctly, ‘Eva is living and will return to you.’ 
I could hear the words just as plainly as I ever 
heard anything in my life, and do you think she 
would come back from the grave to lie to me or 
deceive me when I loved her and little Eva so well? 
But that is not all. Last night she came again, so 
bright and radiant, like sunshine in her white 
robes, and looking at me with shining blue eyes 
she said clearly and distinctly as ever, ‘Eva is in 


164 


EYA. 


trouble and is coming home to you.’ Three times 
she repeated those words, then with a heavenly 
smile she was gone. So then I knew by the 
change in her words that Eva was coming soon, 
and when you asked for the nurse who cared for 
Evangeline Grayland I knew that my dream had 
come true at last. Now tell me all about it, please, 
sir, as soon as you can, for I am wild to see 
the blessed baby again after all these years.” 
She burst into a flood of tears, and bowing her 
head on her hands, sobbed convulsively. 

Ernest felt his own eyes growing moist at the 
sight of her grief, and he hastened to tell her all 
he knew about the matter. She ceased sobbing 
and raising her head listened eagerly to every word 
he uttered, and when he had finished his story he 
said: “So you see, my good woman, your dreams 
have in part come true, but we have still to find 
our little Eva. Living she is, no doubt; but she 
has yet to come home. We will hope for the best, 
however, and I will do everything in my power to 
find her.” 

“Oh, bless you, sir, I know you will. You are a 
Grayland, and the Grayland s are a grand family. 
Don’t I know? Didn’t your good father give Joe 
and I the use of this place and never asked us a 
cent for it all these years? Oh, how I would like 
to see the great house restored to its former gran- 
deur, and see my lost darling, my little Eva, mis- 
tress there. It would be the happiest day of my 
life, and I know it will come. I can feel it.” 

“I hope it may,” he replied fervently, as he arose 


EYA. 


165 


to take his departure. She laid a detaining hand 
on his arm and looked up at him wistfully. 
“Wouldn’t you like to go over the great house and 
about the grounds? I should like so much to 
show you the place,” she said. “It is fourteen 
years since I have had a sight of one of the Gray- 
land family, and you don’t know what your com- 
ing has been to me. I hate to let you go. Please, 
sir, won’t you go over the place with me?” 

“Why, of course I will, if you wish it,” he re- 
plied heartily. Her devotion to his family touched 
him deeply, and although he did not care particu- 
larly about going all over the place again so soon, 
he would not refuse her, for he could see that she 
had her heart set upon it. 

She ran to get a broad-brimmed hat, for the sun 
was hot, and then together they made their way 
through the weed-choked grounds, while she pointed 
out this place and that where a statue or arbor 
had stood, and at last they reached the great house 
itself and ascended the stone steps to the massive 
front doors. Taking a key from her neck she un- 
locked them and swung them open, and they en- 
tered the great hall, down the grand staircase of 
which he could see again in memory the white- 
robed, rose-crowoied figure of Jessamine Erlwin 
coming slowly, while the blood-red light from Tom’s 
red-fire lighted up the scene, and the events of 
that night passed before him again, clearly and 
distinctly as though they had occurred the night 
before. 

He was so absorbed in his reverie that he did 


166 


EYA. 


not hear what his companion was saying until 
she stopped before the great fire-place and called 
his attention to the portrait which hung above it. 
“That,” she said, “was my beautiful mistress, 
and I am sure that Eva will be like her, for she 
had the same features, the same hair and eyes, 
and the same proud, sweet smile. You might be 
able to recognize her by the remembrance of this 
picture if you impress it on your mind.” 

“There was no birthmark or blemish by which 
she could be positively identified?” he asked. 

“None,” replied the nurse, thoughtfully. “Her 
little body was absolutely perfect. Now we will 
go upstairs and I will show you the room where 
she lay in her little crib the night she was stolen.” 

They ascended the stairs, and she led the way 
to the room he had examined on that other night 
so short a time ago, but he did not disclose the 
fact that he had ever seen it before. She showed 
him the window where her mistress stood on the 
night of her death, and called his attention to the 
little lace-draped crib, and as they turned to go 
he pointed to the writing over the door. “‘This 
is the ghost room!’ What does that mean?” he 
asked. “Why is this place reported to be haunted? 
Have you ever seen anything uncanny here that 
should give it such a name?” 

She looked at him with a peculiar expression, 
one that he could not define, as she replied: “They 
do say in the village that my mistress appears in 
the window, and is seen sometimes walking in the 
grounds. But I have never seen her excepting in 


EYA. 


167 


my dreams. But it is a good thing, perhaps, that 
they think so, for they will keep away from here 
and let things alone much better than they would 
if it was not for that. When they say anything 
to me about it, I tell them I should think it would 
be haunted if ever a place was, after such an awful 
murder; the destruction of a whole family. That 
it has reason to be haunted.” 

“Then you have never seen or heard anything 
strange here?” 

He tried to ask the question carelessly, but he 
was thinking of the sounds they had heard that 
night so short a time ago. The shot, followed 
by the cry, the falling body, the hurrying footsteps, 
the flash of lightning and peal of thunder which 
had startled them all, and rendered Cecil nearly 
senseless with fright. 

“No,” she replied, “I have never seen or heard 
anything here which I did not think came from 
natural causes.” But there was a faint glimmer 
of a smile on her face, and a queer expression in 
her eyes as she spoke, which did not escape his 
notice, for he was watching her closely, though not 
seeming to do so. 

“I am glad of that,” he said, “for if Eva should 
ever be found and want to come back here to live 
it would not be pleasant to be annoyed by strange 
happenings.” 

“When Eva comes back to the old home she will 
never be annoyed or frightened by anything 
supernatural. I will vouch for that,” said the wo- 
man, earnestly, and he concluded that she knew 


168 


EYA. 


more about the ghost than she cared to confess. 

“Now we will go into the other wing; the one 
on the other side,” she said, and she led the way 
along the corridors, opening a door here and there 
and showing him glimpses of rooms from which 
nearly everything of value in the way of furnishings 
had been removed. She paused at last before a 
large, heavy door which looked strong enough to 
resist any ordinary attack upon it, and proceeded 
to unlock it and swing it open. He entered and 
found himself in a large store-room. Piles of carpets, 
rugs and hangings, heavy and light draperies, 
silken upholstered and inlaid furniture was there. 
Treasures in wood and tapestry and an overwhelm- 
ing odor of camphor filled the room. The inside 
shutters of the windows were closed, and inside 
them was a network of iron bars. She turned to 
him, and waving her hand toward the heap of 
costly things, she said triumphantly: 

“I have preserved all I could of the old treasures 
from moths as well as thieves. I have attended 
these things all these years to keep them for Eva. 

“From the first time her mother appeared to me 
in my dreams and told me that Eva was living 
and would return to me, I went to work to save 
these things. I suppose some of them are damaged, 
but there are many of them as good as they were 
the day I put them here. When your father came 
here after the tragedy, being the only heir to all 
this, he turned his attention to seeing that the 
bodies had been properly placed in the family vault, 
searched the woods with a party of men to see if 


EYA. 


169 


they could find the little grave where that fiend of 
a Gypsy woman had buried the baby, as everyone 
supposed, and when he had done all he could in 
that line he took the horses away with him, all 
but one pair, came to me and said: ‘You may have 
the little lodge at the west gate to live in, and 
work as much ground on the place as you wish. 
I have left you one pair of horses to use, and you 
may stay right on the place until you hear from 
me again.’ He went away and left the house just 
as it was, furniture, silver, china, and all the beau- 
tiful statuary he never seemed to notice, and I 
supposed he would be back again in just a few 
days, or write, or send some one to look after it, 
but he went back across the ocean, and I have 
not seen or heard a word from him since. Now I 
will show you the statues.” 

She carefully locked the great door of the store- 
room, and leading the way, passed on through 
the portion of the house which had been the ser- 
vant’s quarters, and came out at the door which 
Tom, Cecil and Jessamine had entered on that 
never-to-be-forgotten night. She pointed out the 
ruined fishpond, and called his attention to the 
place where the great stables had stood before 
they were destroyed by fire. 

“I expect tramps did it,” she said, “or else it 
was the village boys.” 

“Were your horses or any animals in there when 
the fire occurred?” he asked. 

“No,” she replied, “we had built a small barn 
nearer our house, where our farm animals were. 


170 


EVA. 


The great barn was not burned until five years 
after all this happened.” 

She led the way back to her small cottage, and 
entering by a side door, passed through and un- 
locked the door of what seemed to be another 
storeroom. It was built on to the main part of 
the house like a lean-to. A window high up in the 
wall gave but a dim light, but he started back in 
astonishment at the treasures of art here revealed. 
Beautiful forms, dainty and fairylike, gleamed in 
that dim light. Here were statues of great value. 
Nymphs and fauns, Greek gods and goddesses, 
Cupid and Psyche, Venus, Diana, Niobe, and a 
score of others, done in finest Carrara marble, to- 
gether with carved stone figures of a pair of lions 
and a group of three deer. There were beautiful 
vases in marble and bronze, small statuettes, dainty 
bric-a-brac, and curios. Dainty forms in all their 
matchless beauty greeted his eyes on every side, 
and he was so taken aback by the sight of these 
wonderful creations of art in such a place as this, 
that he gave vent to his astonishment, greatly to 
her delight. 

“I had this built on here on purpose to put 
these in,” she said, “to save them from the 
ignorant cattle who inhabit the village here. They 
would have broken and destroyed them if they 
had been left where they could have got at them.” 

“Of course, you couldn’t expect cattle to know 
any better than to run over and into such things,” 
he said, with pretended innocence. “You showed 
great good sense to take them inside where they 
would be protected.” 


EYA. 


171 


“I don’t mean horses and cows,” she said smil- 
ing, “I mean that the villagers are ignorant cattle, 
and would not know the value of one finger of 
one of these treasures. I knew they were the most 
valuable of anything on the place, and I don’t 
really know what they are worth, myself. 1 only 
realized that they were almost beyond price and I 
was surprised that your father did not leave any 
directions about them or do anything with 
them, for he knew what they were and what they 
must have cost.” 

Ernest smiled. “They were not old enough to 
interest my father,” he said. “If they had been 
two or three thousand years old and covered with 
hieroglyphics or picture writing, he would have 
wrapped each one in a silk blanket and carried 
them away in his arms if he could. My father cares 
nothing for money excepting as it enables him to 
prosecute his studies and research. He is buried 
alive in the old, musty tombs and catacombs of 
Egypt, and he has forgotten, very probably, all 
about this place, and what he said to you. He 
never had mentioned this matter to me. I never 
knew anything about the tragedy' until the man 
at the Gypsy camp made his confession.” 

“How strange,” she said. “But that accounts for 
much in his manner which I could not understand. 
He was very kind and gentle in his ways, but he 
never seemed to notice things that I thought he 
would be the most interested in. You know that 
most people are looking at the value of an article 
and figuring on what it would sell for; but your 


172 


EYA. 


father did not seem to think of those things at all. 
He was a fine appearing gentleman and so kind, 
and he seemed so greatly distressed over the death 
of his brother and sister-in-law, and the fate of 
the little angel, Eva. Now I will show you the 
silver, and then I think that is about all there is 
that will interest you.” 

She went to one corner and opening the great 
chests showed him an immense amount of silver 
plate, solid silver and a quantity of valuable china. 
“I only brought the choicest pieces in here,” she 
said. “There is much that is not quite so fine in 
the strong room with the furniture, but I felt safer 
to have these here where I could be near them. 
We moved all this in the night, Joe and I, so that 
the village people would not see us.” 

Ernest Grayland looked admiringly at the little 
woman before him. “How faithful and honest 
you have been,” he said. “You have proved your- 
self worthy of any trust, no matter how great. 
You shall have your reward for all this. Eva 
ought to love you devotedly, and reward you 
handsomely, and I think she will; but if she don’t 
reward you, I will. In all my life I never came 
across a case of greater devotion and honesty and 
I have traveled almost all over the world.” 

She flushed red with pleasure at his words of 
commendation and made a little gesture of protest. 
“I only did as my heart dictated,” she replied, 
tears springing to her eyes. “I loved my mistress 
and little Eva more than I can tell you. I was 
heartbroken over their sad fate. It will make me 


EYA. 


173 


happier than anything else could to get my little 
angel back again.” 

“How do you know but that I may be a robber 
or burglar come to deceive you and find out about 
all these treasures you have shown me? You 
never saw me until today,” he said mischievously. 

“Oh, I know you are a Grayland, for your face 
and manner would proclaim that fact to anyone 
who was not blind,” she said laughing, “and any 
member of the Grayland family is perfectly true 
and good. And then I did see you once or twice 
when you were a very little chap, not more than 
four or five years old, I should think. You per- 
haps did not know that I had been in service in 
your uncle’s family before he married. I used to 
come out here summers to help wait on the 
guests before he brought his wife here. Oh, I 
know the Grayland famity features. No one could 
deceive me in that, and I believe I should know 
Eva wherever I happened to meet her after all 
these years. How I hope she has been tenderly 
cared for and properly reared.” 

“I’m sure I hope so too,” he replied. “And now 
I will bid you good bye for the present. I will let 
you know as soon as I learn anything satisfactory. 
I shall begin by tracing the woman, Fanny Du- 
mond, and following up the trail that way. You 
shall hear from me before long.” 

He went back to the inn, mounted Rocket and 
returned to the city by the way he had come. 
He called on Jessamine, and told her what he had 
learned in his interview with the nurse. She 
wished him all success in his search, and he prom- 
ised to report at times the progress he made. 


CHAPTER XI. 


“I wish you would not ask me to ever speak to 
that Will Evers again, Fanchette,” said Eva, “you 
can’t understand how I hate him. Why do you 
allow him to come here when he makes himself so 
fresh?” 

She had told Fanchette all her troubles. Told 
her how he had seized her in his arms and held her 
by main force while he kissed her in spite of her 
struggles to free herself. Fanchette listened and 
smiled indulgently, with a calmness that exasper- 
ated Eva, who was in dead earnest, and thought 
her companion ought to feel as seriously about the 
matter as she did. 

“You will get over your dislike for him in time, 
dear,” replied Fanchette, soothingly. “You are 
angry with him now, and he was a little too 
demonstrative. I think myself he w T ent too far 
when he had not had much encouragement. Try 
and overlook it, my pet, and make up your quar- 
rel with him, for we need all he can give us, and 
he is disposed to be generous. You might as well 
have him for a lover as anyone. You won’t find, 
one every day that has five thousand dollars to- 
spend for your entertainment.” 


EVA. 


175 " 


“Then you will not promise to forbid his com- 
ing here?” asked Eva, and there was a new tone 
to her voice which Fanchette had never heard be- 
fore, and she looked at her in surprise. Eva’s blue 
eyes were glowing with a light of determination 
and fixed resolve that should have given warning 
to the older woman not to drive her too far, but 
she could not imagine her gentle little Eva in the 
role of a desperate woman, and she did not take 
warning, but said decidedly, yet pleasantly: “Why, 
of course I can’t refuse to let him come here. I 
want him to come as long as his money lasts, and 
you will be doing a much more sensible thing to 
accept his attentions to you. than to cast him off 
for some other woman to pick up. Smile on him, 
encourage him, accept his presents and spend his 
money like a sensible little girl. When his money 
is gone it will be time enough to quarrel with him.” 

Eva said no more, for she saw that Fanchette 
was not to be moved from the position she had 
taken, but her young heart was very heavy as she 
went to her rest that night, and she cried herself 
to sleep with her kitten clasped in her arms. The 
next day she was very quiet, and Fanchette con- 
gratulated herself that she had concluded to profit 
by her advice. 

About dusk Eva went to Dick’s rooms, and they 
watched by a window to see if the hated intruder 
would come as usual. Soon they saw the familiar 
figure coming across the back yards. He leaped 
the board fence that encircled O’Leary’s little gar- 
den patch, and ran lightly up the steps to Fan- 
chette’s door. 


176 


EYA. 


“Now is our chance, Dick,” said Eva. “Come 
on.” They hurried down the back stairs, secured 
a thick stick, to which Dick had attached a long, 
strong cord, and went down the path to the little 
enclosure. 

“We are in luck tonight,” whispered Dick, “for 
Pat and his wife have gone away, and so they will 
not discover that the dog is loose till they come 
home. I saw them when they went. The kennel 
is on this side. You stay here while I climb over 
and unfasten the brute.” 

“Do be careful, Dick, and be sure to prop that 
stick solid against the door, so he can’t get out 
before you get away.” 

“If the chain was fastened by a padlock we 
couldn’t unfasten it,” said Dick, “but it is only 
hooked into a staple on the outside of the kennel. 
I looked at it today, and saw how it was fixed. 
All I will have to do is to block the door with 
this stick till I can get the hook out of the staple, 
and when I get back over the fence, pull the 
stick away and the door will swing open, and the 
dog come out. One of us will have to watch, 
though, to see that no one else gets over in there, 
for that dog is the most bloodthirsty brute I ever 
saw. When Pat comes home he will discover that 
he is out and put him back again, so if your 
friend goes home before Pat O’Leary does, we will 
stand some show of winning the game.” 

He leaped the fence, and approached the kennel. 
As he placed the stick firmly in position against 
the door he was greeted by a savage growl from 


EYA. 


177 


the inside. He quickly unhooked the chain, and 
keeping in his hand the cord which was attached, 
he swiftly retreated to the fence and soon stood on 
the other side with Eva. 

“Now,” he said as he jerked the cord, and the 
stick flew back, and with a rush and a succession 
of savage growls the dog bounded out and glared 
about the enclosure wrathfully — “if Dick Delmorn 
was in there now his name would not be Delmorn, 
it would be mud.” 

They made their way back to the house, and 
Dick volunteered to watch and warn anyone who 
might venture into the dangerous region. 

“I’ll sit out here with you, Dick,” said Eva. “I 
don’t want to go into our part of the house while 
he is there. If Fanchette likes him so much she 
may entertain him. I will not.” 

They sat in silence for what seemed to. them a 
long time. At last they heard Fanchette calling 
Eva, but they kept quiet and Eva did not answer. 
Fanchette went in again and for another half hour 
all was quiet, then they heard a door open; heard 
Fanchette say, “Good night, Will,” and then he 
came swiftly down the path; leaped the fence; 
there was a savage growl, a rush, an oath, the 
sound of something tearing, more oaths, louder 
growls, the sound of a sharp struggle; then they 
saw by the dim light that came through from the 
other street, a form scrambling over the opposite 
fence, kicking wildly in a frantic effort to escape 
from something which seemed to be hanging to 
him. After a desperate struggle the form dis- 


178 


EVA. 


appeared on the other side, and in a couple of 
minutes more reappeared, limping slowly out to 
the other street. As he passed out of sight, 
beyond the corner of O’Leary’s house, Dick said: 
“That dog chewed him like sixty, I’ll bet. Now, 
aint you sorry for him, Eva?” 

“Not very,” she replied. “If he was able to walk 
home, it is more than he deserves. But I don’t 
believe he will come tomorrow night, so I’ll have 
a little rest. That bull-dog does his work as 
though he enjoys it,’’ she added laughing. 

“Our plan was a success,” said Dick, “but I 
don’t see how it is going to be permanent. When 
he recovers his equilibrium he will come back 
again; only I don’t believe he will come through 
Pat O’Leary’s garden. You had better go in now, 
Eva, and I will watch until Pat comes home, 
then if he doesn’t discover that the dog is out, I’ll 
tell him and he will not suspect us of having any 
hand in it.” 

She thanked him and went back to the house. 
Fanchette asked her where she had been. She re- 
plied that she had been out with Dick. Fanchette 
said no more for she knew that she had gone out 
to avoid meeting Will Evers. She did not wish to 
irritate the girl too much, so she was very pleas- 
ant, and did not mention the hated name, but 
talked of other things until bed time. 

For a week after this they saw nothing of the 
man, and Eva began to hope that he would not 
come again. Fanchette wondered why he did not 
appear as usual, but she attributed it to some trivial 


EYA. 


179 


detention. Dick asked Eva once if she supposed he 
had been seriously hurt, but she replied that if he 
had, she thought there would be some mention of 
it in the newspapers. 

“Wouldn’t you be sorry for him if he had?” asked 
Dick, and Eva replied, “I don’t really wish him to 
be killed, but he would not hesitate to give a little 
helpless live bird to a cat to be tortured, so why 
should we pity him if he does get hurt? I think 
he deserves it.” 

Dick laughed to himself at Eva’s ideas of justice, 
and his heart was much lighter, for some reason, 
than it had been. 

In about a week Will Evers appeared as smiling 
as ever, in a new suit of clothes, and Eva’s heart 
sank like lead when she saw him. He made some 
excuse about being detained by business matters, 
which satisfied Fanchette, and not one word did 
he drop in regard to the dog. Whether he sus- 
pected something was a question to Eva and Dick 
which they could not decide. After this he came 
often, and Eva avoided him in every way possible, 
to his great disappointment. At last he grew des- 
perate, and appealed to Fanchette for her co-oper- 
ation in the matter. 

“I’m getting tired of this,” he said irritably. 
“You encourage me to persevere, and she snubs 
and avoids me as though I was a pestilence. Can’t 
you use a little authority with the girl? You tell 
me it is only maidenly shyness that makes her so 
cold to me, and that she will get over it in time, 
and you keep me on the string, but I don’t get 


180 


EVA. 


any satisfaction out of this kind of a game. Why 
don’t you shut her up, and starve her into sub- 
mission, or do something to help me? You could 
bring her to time if you only would.” 

Fanchette’s eyes took on a gleam like steel. She 
arose and came toward him. “Shut Eva up and 
starve her into submission!” she said, in a low, 
angry tone. “Well I guess not.” 

“Then go out and leave her alone in the house 
with me, and give me the keys,” he said, “and I 
will see if I can’t conquer her.” 

Fanchette stepped to a writing table and pulling 
out a little drawer, took from it a revolver. 
“Don’t you get too almighty important around 
here, Will Evers,” she said. “I keep this for emer- 
gencies, where men get too fresh in this house, and 
I wouldn’t hesitate to use it if the occasion re- 
quired. There is to be no force used upon Eva, 
you understand. If you can’t win her consent to 
your wishes, you will have to give up the game. 
I will help you in every persuasive way in my 
power, but there shall be no violence used.” 

“Well, well, don’t let’s quarrel, Fan,” he said 
forcing a smile. “I didn’t really mean what I 
said, but I want that girl more than I ever wanted 
anything before in my life, and I mean to have her 
yet. You’ll help me all you can, won’t you?” 

“I told you I would help you as much as I can 
by persuasion, but I cannot make the girl like you, 
and I won’t have her treated in any brutal manner. 
You might as well make up your mind to that, 
and then we shall understand each other.” 


EYA. 


181 


“I’ll never give her up,” he said firmly. “I’ll 
have her yet.” 

Fanchette laughed. “‘And the villain still pur- 
sued her,’” she said. 

They did not know that Eva had overheard their 
conversation, but such was the fact, and she began 
to realize that this man was going to prove the 
bane of her existence. How was she ever to es- 
cape from his hateful and persistent attentions? 
She pondered the matter in her mind for two or 
three days, and then said to Dick: 

“It is no use, Dick, I can’t turn around without 
that detestable man is at my elbow. What 
shall I do? How can I get rid of him? Can’t you 
think of something — some way to shake him off 
for good?” 

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since he came 
back after the dog bit him,” said Dick, thought- 
fully, “and I don’t know of but one way for you 
to do, and that is to leave home — go away some- 
where where he can’t find you. That is the only 
way you can get rid of him, unless you poison him 
or blow him up with dynamite,” he added, smiling, 
“and you would hardly like to resort to such 
measures unless everything else failed.” 

“But, Dick!” gasped Eva, “I don’t know where 
to go. I haven’t a friend in all this world but you 
and Fanchette. Where could I go?” she stopped 
short, and looked at him with wide open eyes. 

“I have been thinking of that, too,” said Dick, 
“and I don’t know of but one place, and that is 
the village I was telling you about; where I went 


182 


EYA. 


with the fresh air kids. You could go there, and 
go to the house of the man I staid with, and tell 
him I sent you, and you could work about the 
house and help his wife enough to pay your board 
until he could find a place for you somewhere. His 
name is Ephriam Jones, and he is a good man. 
You would be all right in his house. I had a good 
time when I was there. I didn’t like Mrs. Jones 
so well as I did him, but you could get along with 
her for awhile, anyhow, and maybe when you are 
gone, and Fanchette thinks she has lost you, she 
will send this Will Evers packing.” 

“But how would I get there? Could I walk? I 
haven’t got a cent to my name. Why can’t you 
go with me, Dick?” 

“I’d go with you in a minute if it wasn’t for” — 
he glanced at the old dog who lay in his bed be- 
hind the stove— “poor old Tipsy.” 

“I never thought of him,” said Eva. “Of course 
you couldn’t leave him, and he can’t walk any 
distance, and he’s too heavy to carry. No, you 
can’t leave him, for there would be no one to care 
for him, and your step-father would throw him out 
of the window and break his poor old bones, if 
you were not here.” 

“He is so old and feeble he can’t live very much 
longer,” said Dick, “and it would be a mercy to 
him to chloroform him, but I just can’t. I have 
had him ever since I can remember, and I am four- 
teen. I think my mother got him for me when I 
was a baby. He and I have been chums all my 
life, and I can’t see him come to any harm, and I 
can’t take his dear old life.” 


EYA. 


183 


“Oh, I wouldn’t have you think of it for any- 
thing!” cried Eva. “If I go away you will take 
care of my kitten, won’t you? I would like to 
take him with me, but I don’t believe I had better. 
I will leave him in your care, for I shall surely 
come back to you, Dick, sometime, and Oh! I hate 
to leave Fanchette.” 

“Well, don’t decide too quick,” said the boy. 
“Take time to think it over. It is the only plan I 
can think of, but don’t let Fanchette get wind of 
it, on your life.” 

“Of course not. I’ll think it over and let you 
know.” 

For a few days things went on much as usual. 
Will Evers came every night, and Eva was kept 
busy devising ways and means to keep out of his 
way. At last she grew so weary of it all, she 
went to Dick, and said: “I have decided to go to 
that place you told me about. I can’t stand this 
any longer. If you will tell me how to get there 
I will start the first chance I have to get away 
without Fanchette’s seeing me. When I get there 
if the people won’t have me, I can come back, but 
I shall stay there if there is any way I can man- 
age to make a living.” 

“I’ll write a letter to Mr. Jones,” said Dick, “and 
you can take it with you. He will remember me. 
It was only five years ago that I was there. I’ll 
go with you to the train and see that you get 
started right.” 

“But, Dick,” interrupted Eva, “you forget I 
haven’t one cent to pay my fare. Can’t I walk if 
I take plenty of time?” 


184 


EYA. 


“There is a way that the people of Greendell 
drive to the city, but I don’t know the road. It 
takes a long time that way. If you go on the cars 
you will not have to walk more than ten miles, 
while this other way would be a great deal longer. 
You will have to take the train and get off at a 
station called Meadowville, and there ask anybody 
to tell you the way to Greendell, and if you start 
out on the road afoot some farmer will most 
likely come along and ask you to ride, so you will 
get there all right. I have got five dollars you can 
have. The old gent gave it to me the last time he 
was flush, and has not asked me for it back again 
yet, so that will pay your fare, and you will have 
some left. I think the fare is a little less than two 
dollars. When do you want to go?” 

“The very first chance I have. Some day when 
Fanchette goes out. You will go with me to the 
depot?” 

“Of course, and buy your ticket, and get you on 
the right train, and then I am sure you will get 
along first rate. If anything should happen that 
Tipsy should die, I will come right after you just 
as fast as I can and bring your kitten in a covered 
basket, and we will live in Greendell as long as we 
want to, see?” 

“I see, and it is the very best thing to do, I’m 
sure. How good you are to me, Dick. What 
should I have done without you?” 

Thus the question was settled, and they waited 
only for an opportunity to carry it into effect. It 
came at last. Fanchette went shopping with one 


EYA. 


185 


of the women of her own class, who lived on the 
same street, and as she did not like to have Eva 
hear the coarse language which some of them used 
she had never been in the habit of allowing her to 
accompany them. Therefore there was nothing 
said in regard to Eva when the two women left 
the house. Eva went to her room and put on the 
plainest dress and hat she had; put a few necessary 
articles in a bundle; sat down and wrote a note 
to Fanchette, telling her just why she was leaving; 
and after hugging and kissing her kitten, and drop- 
ping a few tears on his soft fur, she went to Dick’s 
rooms and rapped softly. 

The old man was stretched on a lounge in a 
drunken slumber, and Dick was putting away the 
remnants of a cold lunch. When he saw Eva and 
noted how she was dressed he knew the time had 
come. Hastily seizing a pasteboard box he jammed 
some articles of food into it, and going into his 
wardrobe soon reappeared ready for the street. 
Eva motioned silently to the. man on the lounge, 
but Dick smiled and nodded reassuringly, and when 
they were outside, said: “He’ll belike that for two 
or three hours, and by that time I’ll be back.” 

They made their way to the station, and Dick 
purchased her ticket, and gave her what remained 
of the five dollars, with many injunctions not to 
lose it. Then he put the box of lunch into her 
hands and they sat down to wait for the train, 
while he gave her all the advice he could think of, 
about the journey, and the people of the village. 

“Don’t tell them too much about yourself,” he 


186 


EYA. 


said. “Just tell them that your parents are both 
dead, and you were obliged to take care of your- 
self, and that you thought you would prefer the 
country to the city, and that was the reason you 
came there to get work. Tell them that you had 
heard me say what a beautiful place Greendell was, 
and that will please them. A little flattery is a 
good thing sometimes. You will find my letter to 
Mr. Jones in that box of lunch. You’d have to 
take a lunch or you’d get awful hungry.” 

“Oh, that makes me think,” she said, opening 
her purse, “I have a little note here that I wrote 
to Fanchette, to tell her why I went, and if you 
will put it where she will see it when she gets 
home, I’ll be ever so much obliged. Pin it on her 
door, or anywhere so she will be sure to find it, 
but don’t let her suspect that you know the least 
thing about where I am, or why I went. When 
she tells you I am gone, you want to be just as 
surprised as anybody, won’t you?” 

“Sure,” he replied, and now don’t worry about 
your kitten or anything, for I will see to that, and 
if poor old Tipsy dies I’ll come to you right away 
after. Here comes the train, and now good bye.” 

“Good bye, dear old Dick. What should I have 
done without you?” Her eyes filled with tears, and 
turning suddenly she put up her lips and kissed 
him for the first time since she had known him. 
He flushed with pleasure as he helped her up the 
steps onto the platform. “Now remember to get 
off at Meadowville.” 

“You may read my note to Fanchette, before you 
let her have it,” she whispered. “Good bye.” 


EYA. 


187 


The train started before she was seated in the 
coach. She caught a glimpse of Dick’s face through 
the window, and then she realized that she had 
started on a new venture, and that this journey 
might make a great change in her whole life. She 
felt very much like crying at first, so lonely it 
seemed to leave all she had once called home, but 
after a time she became interested in watching the 
passengers, and in looking out of the window at 
the swiftly passing landscape, and her spirits rose 
with every mile as the train sped on. 

The two hours had hardly seemed like one, when 
the brakeman called out Meadowville, and they 
began to slacken speed. As they came to a stop,- 
she stepped out onto the station platform, and 
looked about her curiously. It was just a small, 
box-like depot, and there were no other passengers 
for that place. When the train had gone on she 
stepped up to the only man whom she saw about 
the station and asked if he could tell her in what 
direction to go to get to Greendell. 

The station master looked at her and gave a 
little gesture of protest. “You can’t walk it, 
Miss,’’ he said, “for it’s ten miles if it’s an inch. 
That’s the road over there, and a straight road it 
is. If you follow that road without turning off 
anywhere you’ll get there, but you don’t think of 
walking it, do you?” 

“There is no stage that runs from here, is there?” 
she asked. “You see the people I am going to are 
not expecting me, so I will have to manage the 
best I can.” 


188 


EYA. 


“No,” he replied, “there is no conveyance of any 
kind, but you might get a ride with a farmer, at 
least part of the way. I’ll see if there is anyone 
about here that’s going that way.” 

He started off while speaking, and Eva thanked 
him and sat down to wait. In a few minutes he 
returned and said he had found a man who was 
going within three miles of there, and she could 
ride with him as well as not. 

“How kind you are,” she said gratefully. “I 
thank you ever so much.” 

“Not at all, not at all,” he said briskly, “I’m 
glad I could find some one. Here he comes now.” 

A farmer drove up to the platform. He had a 
two-seated spring wagon, and invited Eva to 
“climb in.” She obeyed with alacrity, and nodding 
her thanks once more to the station master, she 
was whirled rapidly away. How the horses sped 
over the smooth road; how the sun shone and the 
birds sang along the way. Past farm houses and 
woods; over bridges and through little valleys. 
Eva thought she had never seen such loveliness. 

“The horses know they’re goin’ home, and that’s 
what makes ’em git up an’ git so like all git out,” 
said the man. “If I wasn’t in such an alfired hur- 
ry with my work at home, I’d take ye clear to 
Greendell.” 

“Oh, I can walk three miles, just as well as 
not,” said Eva. “I shall enjoy it; the day is so 
lovely and the country is so beautiful. I am very 
much obliged to you for this ride. You don’t know 
how I have enjoyed it.” 


EYA. 


189 


“You’re perfectly welcome, Miss. You’re from 
the city, ain’t ye?” 

“Yes, and I like the country ever so much better. 
It is so clean and bright, while the city is so 
smoky and dirty and hot.” 

“Wal, I never took no notion to the city myself. 
The country is good enough fer me. Here’s yer 
stoppin’ place. I have to turn off here. Now you 
follow right on this road, and the first village you 
come to is Greendell.” He drew up the horses and 
Eva alighted, and with a hearty “good bye,” the 
farmer drove away. 

Eva walked leisurely on, every now and then 
pausing by the roadside to pick a wild flower. It 
was about the middle of the afternoon, and she 
felt that there was no hurry, so she took her time 
about walking the three miles, and when she came 
in sight of the village she did not feel weary in the 
least. As she entered the little town she asked a 
boy if he could show her the house of Ephriam 
Jones. “Right over there,” he said, pointing to a 
yellow house with green blinds, and she thanked 
him and turned her steps in that direction. 


CHAPTER XII. 


She ascended the steps and seeing no doorbell, 
rapped on the door. It was opened by a woman 
with a stern, forbidding face. She looked at the 
young girl in stolid surprise. “Does Mr. Ephriam 
Jones live here?” asked Eva. 

“Ephriam Jones died three years ago. I am Mrs. 
Jones, his widow. Was there something you 
wanted?” 

“I was sent here by a boy who came here five 
years ago when the fresh air children came out 
from the city, and he told me to give Mr. Jones 
this letter.” She took out Dick’s letter and handed 
it to the woman. 

“Come in,” she said, and Eva entered the house 
and the woman placed a chair for her which she 
sank into. The woman opened the letter and read 
it. 

“This says you are looking for a home in a 
private family where you can earn your board and 
clothes,” she said when she had finished it. “I 
remember the boy, Dick, very well. Why did you 
leave the city?” She asked the question a little 
sharply. 

“I like the country much better,” replied Eva, 


EYA. 


191 


“and I have no home or relatives, so I could just 
as well suit myself in that matter. I have lived in 
the city so long I am tired of it. I am all alone 
in the world, and Dick thought the country would 
be a better place for me than the city.” 

“How did Dick come to send you here? How 
long have you known him and where is he now?” 
asked Mrs. Jones. 

“I have known him about three years. He lives 
with his step-father in rooms in the same building 
where I lived, so we were neighbors. But the wo- 
man I lived with went away and I wanted another 
place, and Dick advised me to come here instead 
of trying to find work in the city,” said Eva. 

Mrs. Jones looked more satisfied with this ex- 
planation, and after thinking a moment asked: 
“What can you do? What did you do where you 
were last?” 

“I can do housework, all but cooking, but I 
am sure I could learn to do that, only I have never 
tried. The woman I was with did her own cook- 
ing and I did other work about the house.” 

“Well, I’ll try you anyway,” said Mrs. Jones, 
“but I shant pay you any wages. If you want to 
work for your board and clothes I’ll keep you 
awhile; I can’t say how long. That will depend 
on how we get on together. If you please me r 
well and good, but if you don’t, you’ll have to get 
another place. Come this way and take off vour 
hat.” She showed Eva into a tiny bedroom, and 
telling her to “put her bundle on the bureau and 
make herself comfortable,” left her. 


192 


EVA. 


When Eva had made her toilet she came out in- 
to the little sitting-room and found Mrs. Jones 
sitting by a window, sewing. 

“Is there anything I can do now to help you?” 
she asked. “No,” replied Mrs. Jones, “you may 
rest today. I’ll find some work for you tomor- 
row. There is not a great deal to do here, for 
there is only Eddie and myself, so you won’t have 
to work very hard.” 

During the three or four days following Eva sur- 
prised Mrs. Jones by her ability about the house. 
She did everything so neatly and quietly, and was 
so particular to pay attention to any directions 
which that lady gave her, that her employer was 
more pleased than she would have liked to own. 
Eddie, aged eleven, proved a thorn in Eva’s side, 
for he was unruly and impudent to his mother, 
and always getting into trouble with other boys, 
but the thing which aroused Eva the most of any- 
thing he did was his extreme harshness and lack 
of feeling for his dog. He was sole owner and 
proprietor of a handsome water spaniel; a gentle, 
affectionate little animal, with a bright, intelligent 
face, and soft pleading eyes. The dog took a great 
fancy to Eva because she favored him on all oc- 
casions, and tried by kindness and petting to make 
up to him for the abuse he suffered at the hands 
of his tyrannical young master. As her affection 
for the dog grew, her dislike and detestation for 
the boy grew also, and at last she appealed to 
Mrs. Jones in behalf of Curley and told her that 
Eddie had been kicking him. 


EVA. 


193 


“Oh, well, I can’t help it,” replied the woman. 
“I got him the dog to play with, because the boys 
here are so mean to him. I don’t know why it is, 
I’m sure, but it seems to me that every boy, big 
or little, in this village, picks on my little Eddie. 
They whip him and fight him at school, and on 
the way home, and if I say a word to their moth- 
ers about it they stick right up for their own. I 
suppose that is because I am left a widow, and 
Eddie has no father to take his part. They think 
they can do anything to him. I got the dog for 
him so he could have a playmate right here at 
home, so he wouldn’t be lonesome, and I can’t 
help it if he does play rough with him. It’s only a 
dog, and I guess he can stand it.” 

Eva saw that there was nothing to be gained 
by trying to enlist her sympathies, for she soon 
discovered that the woman had no real sympathies 
for anything or anyone, but her beloved Eddie. 
That he flew into a rage quite frequently and 
kicked and struck his mother did not seem to have 
the slightest diminishing effect on her tenderness 
toward him. So Eva said no more, but watched 
and improved every opportunity to make Curley’s 
lot easier for him. She also discovered that Mrs. 
Jones was at sword’s points wfith almost 
every other woman in the village who had a boy 
old enough to go to school. For all those who 
were smaller and weaker than Eddie had been 
whipped by him, and those who were larger and 
stronger had served him the same way. There was 
always a tale of woe when he returned from school, 


194 


EYA. 


and his mother would sympathize with him, believe 
every word he said, and blame everybody but him. 

She had one neighbor who lived a little farther 
down the street, and who had no children, with 
whom she was on friendly terms. Mrs. Bruler of- 
ten came up to sit awhile, and Mrs. Jones often 
went there. Eva liked little Mrs. Bruler from the 
very first, and after a time came to feel very sorry 
for her, when she found out that her husband, Dan 
Bruler, was a brutal and dissipated wretch, who 
abused her and everything with which he came in 
contact. 

How forcibly Fanchette’s teaching came to Eva’s 
mind in the days that followed. The oft repeated 
statement that all men were selfish brutes, and 
Eva would wonder if it were not true after all, 
and then her thoughts would revert to Dick, until 
he seemed the last and only straw to cling to. 

On the fifth day after her arrival, Mrs. Jones 
asked Eva what church she attended. 

“I have never been to church,” replied Eva. 

“What!” cried the woman, stopping short and 
gazing at the girl with horrified eyes. “Never been 
to church? Perhaps you read the Bible at home. 
You read your Bible, I hope.” 

“No,” said Eva, astonished at the woman’s ve- 
hemance, “I have read a great many books, but 
not one of that name. I don’t believe the woman 
I lived with had any, for I read all the books she 
had and a lot that Professor Heilbrun let me take, 
but I don’t remember any by that name.” 

“Well, Good Lord!” ejaculated Mrs. Jones. “I 


EVA. 


195 


should think that here was a case for the mission- 
aries. Well, well, I never. No, I never did.” 

“Is it something which you think I particularly 
ought to read?” asked Eva, innocently. 

“Why, I didn’t suppose there was anybody in 
this civilized country but what had read the Bible, 
or heard of it. I’ll get mine for you, and I want 
you to read it all through from Genesis to Revel- 
ations. I’ll give you a certain length of time every 
day and evening until you have got clear through 
it from the beginning to the end.” 

“Is it a very big book?” asked Eva, “for if it is 
I can read it through in a short time. I have read 
many large books, lots of them, but I don’t re- 
member of ever seeing that.” 

“Yes, it is a big book. The Word of God ought 
to be a big book, oughtn’t it? You may go to 
church with me tomorrow. That will be making 
a beginning.” She hurried through her Saturday’s 
work to get time to run down to Mrs. Bruler’s 
and tell her what a young heathen she had discov- 
ered right here at home. 

“Talk about foreign missions,” she said to her 
friend. “I should think there was enough for mis- 
sionaries to do right here in our own cities, if this 
girl is a sample of what our cities contain.” 

“But Eva is a beautiful girl and gentle and re- 
fined. I never saw a young girl I took more of a 
liking to,” said Mrs. Bruler. 

“That aint agoin’ to save her soul, her bein’ 
gentle and refined,” declared Mrs. Jones, vehem- 
ently. “She’s got to learn the word of God, and 


196 


EYA. 


live up to it. I’ll make a Christian of her in a few 
weeks. See if I don’t.” 

“1 hope you will,” said Mrs. Bruler. “I wish 
you every success in the good work, I’m sure.” 

“I believe God sent her to me on purpose to con- 
vert to religion,” said Mrs. Jones. “I think it is a 
special dispensation of Providence. I feel it in my 
bones.” 

They went to church the next da}', and Eva was 
the center of all eyes. The people had heard that 
Mrs. Jones had taken a girl to work for her board, 
and many were the comments thereon. “I pity the 
girl,” said one woman, “that boy, Eddie, will 
make her daily life a burden.” “Maybe she will 
get at him some day and straighten the kinks out 
of him,” said another. “If she does, it will be the 
last day of her stay in that house,” said a third. 
“What a pretty little thing she is,” remarked a 
fourth, and so on and so forth. 

When they reached home Mrs. Jones said: “Well, 
Eva, how did you like the sermon? Don’t you 
think the Rev. Mr. Pheelbad is a smart preacher?” 

Eva laughed. “I think if that is his name it is 
very appropriate, for he seemed to feel bad about 
some people whom he spoke of as lost, and his 
regret seemed to be that they might have been 
saved if they would, and that it was their own 
fault that they were not. I did not get the sense 
of it, I’m afraid. I did not understand it at all.” 

Mrs. Jones looked somewhat shocked. “I sup- 
pose you can’t be expected to understand it until 
you have studied the Bible, but we will remedy all 


EYA. 


197 


that,” she said, more cheerfully than she was in 
the habit of speaking. For Mrs. Jones was not re- 
markable for her cheerfulness. 

The next day she began her work of conversion 
by bringing out the family Bible, and telling Eva 
that she might begin and read two hours in the 
afternoon and one hour in the evening, after sup- 
per. She did not ask her what she thought of it 
until four days had elapsed, and Eva, who was a 
rapid reader, had made great progress. 

“Well, Eva, what do you think of it?” she asked 
at the close of the fourth day. 

“I don’t like it quite so well as I do the Greek 
Mythology,” Eva replied, thoughtfully. “The stor- 
ies are a good deal on that plan, but I don’t think 
they are so interesting, and I don’t like the style 
of writing so well.” 

Mrs. Jones’ face was a study for an artist at 
that moment. “Eva, don’t ever let me hear you 
call the Bible uninteresting again! I am shocked. 
I never heard anyone speak like that. I should 
think you would be afraid.” 

“Do you like the book so much?” said Eva in 
surprise. “I will never say a word about it again 
if you like it so much that it pains you to hear it 
criticised. You asked me what I thought, and I 
simply told you. I don’t see why j r ou should care 
so much whether I like it or not. Hardly any two 
persons are alike in their tastes on reading mat- 
ter. Dick and I often differed about a book but we 
never felt hurt about it. I am sorry I said any- 
thing if this is your favorite work.” 


198 


EYA. 


“You don’t understand, Eva. I was shocked to 
hear you call the word of God uninteresting. Don’t 
you know that it is the word of God?” 

“There are not so many gods mentioned in here 
as there is in the Greek Mythology,” said Eva. 
“There is a mention here of only one, but perhaps 
there will be more, farther on.” 

“No! no!” cried Mrs. Jones in despair. “God is 
the ruler of the world. Our God, the father of 
Jesus Christ, you understand.” 

“Do you believe there ever was such a god as is 
represented in here? The one who was supposed 
to have made the earth in six days, and who 
turned Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden?” 
asked Eva in surprise. 

“Yes! yes!” cried Mrs. Jones. “That w r as God. 
I believe every word.” 

“It don’t seem to me that he could have under- 
stood human nature ver} r well,” replied Eva, “for 
when he told them that there was one tree they 
must not touch he ought to have known that 
that would be the one that would interest them 
most. But you don’t really believe that ever hap- 
pened do you? Professor Heilbrun read me lots of 
stories about gods and goddesses, but he said 
that no one was expected to believe them now. 
That was ‘once upon a time,’ as they say in fairy 
tales, the people on earth were very ignorant of all 
the sciences, and so they allowed their imagin- 
ations to supply a reason for things which they 
could not understand or account for, and that 
that was the way these stories got started in the 


EYA. 


199 


first place. This book says that the earth was 
made in six days. You don’t believe that, do you?” 

Mrs. Jones gasped for breath, and before she 
could speak Eva continued: “Professor Heilbrun 
said that this earth was probably millions of years 
in forming and getting ready to support any kind 
of life. This book says the stars are lamps placed 
in the heavens to give light upon the earth. We 
know better than that. The stars are suns and 
planets, a great majority of which are much larger 
and grander than this little earth. I am afraid 
your education has been sadly neglected, Mrs. 
Jones. I wish I had the professor’s books here for 
you to read.” 

Mrs. Jones was speechless for a few moments, 
and sat gazing at Eva in horror. She could see 
by the expression of the girl’s face that she was 
perfectly serious and in earnest, and she began to 
realize that she had undertaken a gigantic task 
when she started out to convert this fifteen year 
old child. She tried to calm herself, and at last 
succeeded so that she spoke without impatience 
when she said: “Never mind, we will not talk 
about it any more now. You may go right on 
reading, and I will have Mr. Pheelbad explain 
everything in the book that you don’t understand. 
He often calls here, and he can teach you much 
better than I can. So we will not discuss it; we 
will leave it for him to explain to your complete 
satisfaction.” 

There was nothing more said on the subject for 
several days. Eva continued her reading as she 


200 


EYA. 


had been directed. The next Sunday it stormed, 
so that Mrs. Jones decided not go to church, so 
she said prayers at home, as much for Eva’s bene- 
fit as anything. Before the next Sunday came the 
Rev. Mr. Pheelbad called, and as Eva had almost 
finished her reading, Mrs. Jones thought it would 
be a suitable time for the minister to commence 
his work of instructing her in the Christian relig- 
ion, and explaining all the knotty questions which 
Eva might ask. She accordingly took Mr. Pheel- 
bad into another room and explained the case to 
him, to the best of her ability. He was interested 
at once, and agreed with her that it looked like 
the hand of Providence, Eva’s coming to give them 
a chance to save her soul. 

Mrs. Jones then called Eva, and introduced her 
to the minister, and telling her that he would 
teach her the truths of the Bible and all the beau- 
ties of the Christian religion, she left them alone 
together, that they might not be in any degree 
embarrassed by her presence. 

The minister began by asking her to listen while 
he told her the story of the Redeemer. She listened 
without interruption while he told her the story 
of Christ’s coming into the world to save sinners, 
and warming to his subject continued on to the 
crucifixion and ascension. But the fact which he 
was most anxious to impress upon her mind was 
that Christ came into the world to save it; that 
if people would not lose their souls they must be- 
lieve on him, for in that lay their only salvation. 

Eva paid the strictest attention all through his 


EYA. 


201 


discourse, and it was very flattering to his hopes 
when he looked at her earnest face and question- 
ing eyes. At last he paused and asked if she 
thought she understood all he had said, and if she 
would like to ask any questions. 

“Yes,” she said. “You say that only those who 
believe in Jesus Christ will be saved; all others lost 
through all eternity?” 

“Yes, that is it,” he replied. “I see you compre- 
hend me fully.” 

“Then,” said Eva, “what became of the souls of 
all the millions of people who lived and died before 
Christ ever came on earth. Were they all lost?” 

“Why — ah — why — ah — no,” he replied, “of course 
they were not lost, for they never had the truth 
taught them. They had never known Christ, so 
of course they could not be punished for what 
they did not know. No, they were not lost. The 
prophets foretold His coming, and all those who 
believed them would be saved of course.” 

“But,” said Eva, “people do not all believe 
prophets predictions — at least they do not now- 
adays. And I do not see why they should be 
punished through all eternity if they don’t. As I 
understand it from what you tell me, no one was 
lost before Christ came, or at least before the 
prophets had predicted it, but after that, every one 
who did not believe in Him as the Son of God, was 
lost, and only those who believed in Him were 
saved.” 

“That is the right interpretation,” said the min- 
ister. “They must accept and believe in Him, in 
order to save their souls.” 


202 


EYA. 


“Then,” she said, “I don’t see how his coming 
helped the matter any. If none were lost before 
He came, and after His coming everyone was lost 
who did not believe Him to be the Son of God it 
seems to me that it would have been better for 
the human race if He had not come at all. But 
as I read the story of Christ I do not see anything 
in His character that indicates any such vindictive- 
ness. To me His life and character seem filled with 
sweetest charity to all erring ones. Such patience, 
and sublime forgiveness He showed, even to those 
who tortured Him. I can’t believe He would de- 
stroy anyone, whether they believed Him a god or 
man.” 

“I think we have talked enough for once. I will 
go now and I hope that God will give you light, 
and a change of heart, for I don’t seem to be able 
to. I pity Mrs. Jones from the bottom of my 
heart, for your heathenism is an awful trial to 
her.” 

“I am sorry I have disappointed you so,” she 
said, “but why should 3^ou and Mrs. Jones care 
what I think about all this? I never take it so 
much to heart just because others don’t always 
agree with me. They may think as they please, 
and I can do the same, so long as it does not in- 
jure anyone.” 

“I may discuss this with you some other time,” 
lie said. “I don’t feel equal to any more just now. 
But I will say this to you as a warning; you must 
believe the Bible. You must also believe in Jesus 
Christ or you will be lost through all eternity.” 


EYA. 


203 


He walked out of the room with an air of most 
severe displeasure, while Eva gazed after him, 
wondering what there was in what she had said 
which had so offended him. 

He told Mrs. Jones that he had never found so 
hardened a case of absolute unbelief in one so 
young, and expressed it as his opinion that no one 
would ever make her see things as she should. “For 
you know, Mrs. Jones, ‘there are none so blind as 
those who won’t see,’ and nothing seems to awe 
this girl. She says things that would make one’s 
flesh creep, and thinks no more of it than as 
though she was speaking of the weather. It makes 
me feel bad. I hope you can make her see the ne- 
cessity for her to believe in the Bible, but I am 
afraid her’s is a hopeless case. Perhaps her day 
of grace is past. We don’t know.” 

“I’ll do the best I can, Brother Pheelbad,” said 
Mrs. Jones. “I’ll try my best, with the help of 
God, to convert her.” 

After this there was a feeling of embarrassment 
between the two women. When Eva had finished 
the reading of the scriptures, Mrs. Jones asked her 
if she was any more inclined to accept the truths 
of the Bible than when she last questioned her, and 
Eva replied gently, that she was sorry to disap- 
point Mrs. Jones, but truth compelled her to con- 
fess that she was no nearer to believing it than 
she was before. 

Mrs. Jones drew her lips into a hard line, but 
said no more on the subject for several days, but 
it was easy to see that she did not feel as friendly 


204 


EYA. 


toward the young girl as she had done. In a few 
days the Rev. Mr. Pheelbad called again, and 
labored long and earnestly to convince Eva that 
the Bible was every word true, but he was always 
met by the question, “How do you know? What 
proof is there that it is any truer than any other 
old book of ancient myths and legends?” 

“Because it is the word of God, and it is sinful 
and wicked to question the word of God,” he 
would reply, and then she would ask: “How do 
you know it is the word of God? Where is God? 
What is God?” and similar questions, until the 
minister was in despair. “You must believe it, ”he 
would say, and she would reply, “I can’t believe 
one-half of it, for it does not look reasonable. 
How can I believe anything when I can’t? Do 
you want me to lie to you and say that I do be- 
lieve it when I don’t?” 

“Most certainly not,” he said sternly. “But I 
can’t see what makes you so sceptical. Other peo- 
ple believe it; why shouldn't you? You are a 
strange girl. I don’t know what to say to you to 
make you see things in the proper light. Just 
think what self-sacrifices have been made by peo- 
ple who loved God. There we have for instance, 
the story of Abraham and Isaac, l^ou read that I 
suppose?” 

“Yes,” said Eva. 

“There you see a beautiful spirit of submission 
and love and childlike faith in the self-sacrifice of 
Abraham when he was ready to give up his own 
son as a sacrifice to the Lord because He asked it 


EVA. 


205 


of him. Don’t you think that is a very beautiful 
story?” 

Eva shuddered and looked up at the minister in 
astonishment. “Do you call that a beautiful 
story?” she said. “Why I thought it was horrible, 
barbarous, for a man to try to burn his own son. 
I guess if you had been Isaac you wouldn’t have 
thought it was very beautiful. Why, if Abraham 
had lived in the city and he had been caught at- 
tempting such a thing the authorities would have 
nabbed him and rushed him off to jail, and such a 
flimsy excuse as ‘his being commanded by the Lord 
to do it’ would not help his case any. For they 
would have him examined, and if he was insane, 
they would shut him up in an asylum where he 
could not injure anyone. Wh} r , the society for the 
prevention of cruelty to animals would not allow 
him to torture the poor ram that was caught by 
its horns in the thicket. They would arrest him 
for that, no matter how much he might declare 
that God told him to. I think Abraham was a 
dangerous man and ought not to have been al- 
lowed to run at large for the safety of the rest of 
the community, for no one could tell when he 
would take it into his head that God wanted him 
to kill someone.” 

The minister sat looking at Eva with an expres- 
sion of horror on his face, which gradually deep- 
ened to one of intense anger. “You have said 
things that sound blasphemous,” he said. “I tell 
you if you don’t come to the proper faith you will 
lose your soul.” 


206 


EYA. 


“If I do,” said Eva, smiling, “it certainly won’t 
be your fault.” 

“There seems to be no use of discussing the bles- 
sed Bible with one so hardened as you, for all you 
care to do is to pick it to pieces and try to show 
it up in the most ridiculous light.” He then went 
to Mrs. Jones and told her what little progress he 
had made. 

That lady looked severe. “I don’t like the girl 
as well as I did,” she said. “I can’t help a feeling 
of dislike towards her for her sinful, wicked unbe- 
lief. I don’t believe my patience will last much 
longer. Either she will have to pay proper atten- 
tion to religion or she will have to get another 
home.” 

After this Mrs. Jones was barely civil to Eva, 
and went about the house with her lips set, and a 
stern expression upon her face, which relaxed only 
when Eddie demanded attention. She spoke to 
the young girl only when it was necessary to 
give her directions about the work, and for a week 
the situation was a very uncomfortable one. At 
last one day Mrs. Jones went away to spend the 
day, and left Eva to keep house, and see to Eddie 
when he came home from school. 

Eva busied herself about the house-work, and 
laid out Eddie’s lunch for him, and then sat down 
to do a little sewing which Mrs. Jones had left for 
her in case she had the time to do it after the 
other work was attended to. Master Eddie took 
the dog, Curley, and went out into the yard, 
where he amused himself by throwing sticks into 


EYA. 


207 


his mother’s flower-bed for Curley to bring out, 
and enjoyed thoroughly the havoc which it wrought 
among the plants. 

While engaged in this he happened to glance up- 
and saw going past the house, a boy who had 
worsted him in a fight only the day before. He 
knew there was no use of trying to conquer him 
in a battle for the boy was clearly “too much for 
him,” but there burned in his breast a desire for 
revenge, so calling Curley, and pointing to the boy 
he said “sic ’im.” Curley dashed out, and seeing 
the boy, bounded about and tried to play with him. 
Eddie cried “sic ’im! sic ’im!” and the boy looked 
around. But the dog, being endowed with more 
decency than his master, refused to “sic ’im.” Then 
the boy who had stopped to see what Eddie in- 
tended to do called out: “Yer dog’s got more sense 
than you have. You tried to lick me yesterday 
and got licked yerself, and yer dog knows better 
than to try it on, see?” 

Eddie was furious. He flew into a rage, and 
seizing Curley by the collar, dragged him up the 
steps and into the house. As he passed Eva where 
she sat sewing, she asked him what he was going 
to do with Curley. 

“I’m goin’ to show him that when I tell him to 
sic ’im he’s got to do it,” he said going to the 
umbrella rack and drawing therefrom a large, 
heavy cane. He opened the door to the cellar- way 
and prepared to descend, giving the dog a kick to 
make him go through the doorway. 

“You are not going to whip Curley with that, 
great cane?” cried Eva in alarm. 


208 


EYA. 


“I’m goin’ to do as I’m a mind to with my own 
dog, I guess, and you’d better mind you own busi- 
ness or you’ll wish you had,” he replied as he dis- 
appeared down the cellar stairs. 

A few moments of silence followed, then came 
the sound of a blow together with a shrill cry of 
pain from the dog. Eva waited a moment, but 
another blow and pitiful cry from the little animal 
she had grown to love, rendered her desperate. 
With a bound she reached the cellar door, ran 
down the stairs and the sight that met her eyes 
aroused all the spirit she possessed. Poor Curley 
was fastened to the leg of a table, and over him 
stood the young tyrant with the thick cane grasped 
in both hands to give more power to the blow he 
was about to deliver. Curley’s soft, appealing eyes 
were turned pleadingH upward, mutely imploring 
mercy. 

Eva bounded upon Eddie and snatched the cane 
from his hands. He turned upon her with tigerish 
ferocity, and snatching up his jack-knife which lay 
on the edge of the table, he made a vicious lunge 
at her, which she was so lucky as to dodge in 
time. She caught him by his coat collar, and then 
began a battle such as she had never anticipated. 
He continued to strike at her with the knife but 
she rained blows upon him with the cane and 
while he howled and kicked and struck out fiercely 
she gave him such a chastisement as he never had 
had before, even from the bigger boys. 

She did not stop until he ceased fighting and be- 
gan to whine and beg, then she let him go, and 


EYA. 


209 


stooping down, unfastened Curley and patted his 
glossy head. “Poor little dog,” she said, “it was 
a cruel fate which consigned you to the mercy of 
this fiendish little wretch, but I think he knows 
how it feels, himself, now.” 

“I’ll tell my mother on you,” he whimpered. 
“My mother’ll just about kill you for this; you see 
if she don’t.” 

Accordingly when his mother returned, he went 
to her with his tale of woe, and his mother lis- 
tened in ominous silence. When he had finished 
and she had petted and kissed him, she arose and 
stood before Eva. 

“Did you whip Eddie with that cane?” she asked, 
in an awful voice. 

“I did,” replied Eva. 

“Then you will never stay another night beneath 
my roof. You may go and pick up your things.” 

Eva said nothing more, for she had seen enough 
of Mrs. Jones to know that explanations would be 
worse than useless. She knew that if Eddie had 
killed the dog and his mother had witnessed the 
performance, she would still be of the same mind. 
She had got the dog to amuse the boy and the 
boy had a right to amuse himself with it in any 
way that best suited him, regardless of the feelings 
of that animal. Dogs should not be too particu- 
lar. Mrs. Jones had been often heard to say that 
animals were created solely for the use of man, to 
do his bidding, and once when she had expressed 
that opinion very strongly in Ely Nayburn’s hear- 
ing, he asked her to what particular line of work 


210 


EYA. 


or usefulness God had intended man to put the 
rhinoceros. A question which she pronounced 
“disgustingly unreasonable and stupid.” 

Eva gathered up her belongings with a lighter 
heart than might have been expected under the 
circumstances, for the strained relations which had 
existed between them for [the past few days had 
worn upon her spirits. She felt that it would be 
a relief to get away from this house. She thought 
she would go and bid Mrs. Bruler good bye, and 
then return to the city. Perhaps that detestable 
Will Evers was gone by this time, and if so she 
would return to Fanchette. 

Mrs. Jones never opened her lips as Eva walked 
out, but Curley, who was out on the steps, got 
up and followed her to Mrs. Bruler’s house. She 
found that little woman ill in bed with a bilious 
headache, and she begged Eva to stay with her 
until she was better. “I have these attacks once 
in a while and they last two or three days. If 
you have left Mrs. Jones, you will be doing me a 
great kindness by staying with me,” she said. So 
Eva stayed, and as soon as Mrs. Bruler was able 
to sit up, she told her about her trouble with Mrs. 
Jones. Mrs. Bruler listened attentively and when 
Eva had finished she said: “I am glad that for 
once in his life that boy got what he needed. How 
the women in this place will rejoice when they 
hear it. She has quarreled with more than half 
of the women in this village about that unruhr 
little reprobate. Pm glad you caned him, Eva” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Before Eva had been in the B ruler house three days 
she had become very fond of Mrs. Bruler, and as 
that little lady seemed to fully reciprocate her affec- 
tion she could have been very happy and contented 
there if there had been no other inmate; but she 
found that the master of the house, Dan Bruler, 
was about as contemptible a specimen of the hu- 
man family as it is possible to find. Mrs. B ruler’s 
home life was a horror such as Eva had only 
dreamed of in all she had heard and read of inhu- 
man brutes. His tyranny and abuse of his uncom- 
plaining wife made Eva’s blood boil. How many 
times she wished she had the strength of a man, so 
that she could give him the punishment he so 
richly deserved, and his conduct kept her con- 
stantly in mind of Fanchette’s teachings in regard 
to marriage being the one thing most to be avoided 
in life. 

He seldom addressed a civil word to Mrs. Bru- 
ler, generally emphasizing his remarks to her with 
an oath. He flew into a towering rage upon the 
slightest provocation, and often upon no provoca- 
tion whatever. He found fault with everything she 
did, and growled about things which he thought 


212 


EYA. 


she ought to do. He pushed her roughly out of 
his way if she chanced to get into it, and if there 
was anything which he knew she particularly liked 
he studiously avoided getting it. 

One day after he had been more harsh and bru- 
tal than usual, he strode out, slammed the door, 
and left the house. 

Mrs. Bruler, accustomed as she was to him and 
his ways, was feeling nervous and nearly ill, and 
not in a mood to bear as much as usual, and after 
he had gone she burst into tears, and throwing 
herself on a lounge, sobbed audibly. Eva sat down 
beside her and softly stroked her hair, and bending 
down kissed her on the forehead. “Never mind,” 
she said soothingly. “I love you and I know just 
what awful creatures men are.” 

Mrs. Bruler sat up and looked at Eva in sur- 
prise, a little smile struggling over her face in spite 
of her miser}^. 

“What do you know of men, my dear child?” she 
said. “What dreadful experience have you ever 
had?” 

“Oh, I have seen and heard and read a good 
deal about them, and Fan — ” she hesitated, for she 
had never spoken Fanchette’s name since coming 
to Greendell. 

“What were you going to say, dear?” asked Mrs. 
Bruler, seeing that Eva hesitated. 

“I was going to say that the woman I lived 
with before I came to this place had been married 
three times, and she always told me that all men 
are bad; that there are none of them who are 
worth thinking of twice.” 


EYA. 


213 


Mrs. Bruler sighed. “Your friend must have had 
a very bitter experience, to make such a sweeping 
assertion,” she said. “There are some good men 
in the world. My father was a good man, and 
there are some good men right here in Greendell. 
So you see, Eva, your friend was mistaken.” 

“Well,” said Eva, reflectively, “I don’t think I 
like good men any better than I do bad ones. Mr. 
Pheelbad is a good man, isn’t he? Mrs. Jones says 
he is one of the best.” 

“I suppose he is,” replied Mrs. Bruler. “I am not 
much acquainted with him.” 

“Well, then,” said Eva, “if he is one of the best, I 
don’t think there is anything to choose between a 
good and a bad man.” 

“Why, Eva, what fault can you have to find 
with the minister?” 

Eva related her experience in reading the Scrip- 
tures with the explanations given by the Rev. Mr. 
Pheelbad. “I couldn’t believe any such unreasonable 
stories,” she said, “and both he and Mrs. Jones 
seemed to dislike me for it. I could have told them 
a lie and pretended to believe, but Professor Pleil- 
brun— the old man who taught me my lessons — 
told me never to tell lies. He said that the people 
in this world had been told too many lies already, 
and that what people needed the most of anything, 
was the truth. Well, when I told the truth, Mr. 
Pheelbad and Mrs. Jones didn’t seem to like it very 
well and they kept telling me that I must believe, 
and I couldn’t. Anyone can’t believe anything when 
they can’t, can they? If anyone told you an un- 


214 


EYA. 


reasonable yarn, and said you must believe it, could 
you do it just because they wanted you to?” 

Mrs. Bruler smiled. “Why, no,” she said, “if one 
can’t, one can’t, of course. Didn’t you ever read the 
Bible until you came here?” 

“No, I never had seen the book before, that I re- 
member of. I have read lots and lots of books. 
I have studied lots of histories, and other things, 
among them was geology and astronomy, and I 
was very much interested in them, and old Profes- 
sor Heilbrun was the nicest man I ever saw, and 
he explained things in such a sensible way that 
one could see that what he said was true. But 
Mr. Pheelbad and Mrs. Jones wanted me to be- 
lieve things because they were in the Bible, that 
were contrary to everything I had learned from 
Professor Heilbrun. They wanted me to believe 
that this earth was created in six days, when Pro- 
fessor Heilbrun taught me that it took millions of 
years. They wanted me to believe that the sun 
and moon stood still one whole day for Joshua to 
fight, when we know that the sun and moon could 
not do anything of the kind, without throwing the 
whole planetary system into confusion and de- 
struction, and there were other things like that 
which they tried to make me believe. Then to- 
ward the last of the book, when we got to 
the story of Christ, they told me if I didn’t believe 
that story, I would surely lose my soul, and they 
were offended with me because I wouldn’t say I 
did believe it, when I didn’t. And what I can’t 
understand is that they should care enough 


EYA. 


215 


about what I did or did not believe, to get mad 
about it. If I do lose mv soul, as they say, it will 
be my own loss, won’t it? What have they got 
to be mad about? I would be the only sufferer by 
it, wouldn’t I? But I know they have never liked 
me so well, since.” 

“Never mind, my dear,” said Mrs. Bruler, “I 
want you to stay with me just as long as you 
can. I would like to keep you with me always. 
It makes no difference to me what you believe or 
disbelieve. You are like sunshine in the house, and 
I need you every day. My life is not quite so un- 
bearable since you came. You see how things are 
and understand how I need one true heart on 
which I can lean for comfort. You are a dear, 
sweet, truthful, honest, little girl, and I love you 
already, Eva.” 

Eva’s eyes filled with tears. “Dear Mrs. Bruler,” 
she said, “I don’t understand why you endure it. 
Why don’t you run away and go where he cannot 
find you?” 

“I have been sorely tempted to, but I try to re- 
member my marriage vows, which were that I 
would ‘take him, for better, for worse, to love 
honor, and obey until death.”’ 

“But you can’t do all that, it seems to me, for 
you can’t love him, can you?” 

“I’m afraid not.” 

“And you don’t honor him, do you?” 

“I can’t.” 

“Well, then, I don’t see how you can be expected 
to stay with him till death. Why do they make 


216 


EYA. 


laws that ask people to promise things which they 
are not sure they can do, even if they try? I don’t 
believe in marriage. It is a good deal like asking 
someone to believe something which there is no 
proof of. Fanchette says that marriage is a big 
fraud, a gigantic swindle, and I guess there is 
more truth than poetry in what she says. She 
has been married three times, so she would know.” 

“Marriage is all right, Eva, if the parties are 
congenial. If the two who enter into the marriage 
contract are devoted to each other, marriage is a 
heaven upon earth. It is only where they are un- 
congenial that they turn out unhappily.” 

“Then I guess they are all uncongenial,” said 
Eva, “for I have never known of any other kind. 
Have you?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Bruler, “I have known of a few 
cases where the husband and wife were perfectly 
devoted to each other, even into old age. There 
is a case of that kind right here in Greendell. A 
Mr. and Mrs. Brown, who are very poor, and live 
in a tiny house on the edge of the village. They 
are just as much in love with each other as they 
ever were. They are happy and cheerful even 
in their poverty because they have each other.” 

“And you are sure that he never swears at her 
or grumbles, and finds fault, or gets drunk, or any 
of those things that men do?” 

“Old Mr. Brown is one of the nicest, kindest old 
gentlemen I ever knew, and she worships him.” 

“I should think she would,” said Eva. “I am 
glad to know there is one marriage that has 
turned out well.” 


EYA. 


217 


A shadow passed the window, and looking out 
they saw Mrs. Jones going around to the side door. 
Mrs. Bruler went to admit her. Mrs. Jones was 
rather cool in her manner, and did not notice Eva 
when she passed through the room. 

Mrs. Bruler treated her caller just as she always 
had, and ignored that lady’s frigid manner. After 
speaking of the weather and the latest events in 
the village, Mrs. Jones cleared her throat and said: 
‘‘I see you have taken my girl into your house and 
are keeping her right along.” 

“She came here one day saying she had left your 
house, and was going back to the city, so I asked 
her to stay with me. I am glad to have her,” said 
Mrs. Bruler, pleasantly. 

“I presume she hasn’t told you how she beat 
poor little Eddie with a great, heavy cane, one 
day when I went away and left the little fellow in 
her care. But if she thought she could do that 
and I not find it out, she made a mistake, for the 
poor little boy told me as soon as I got home.” 

“Well, I need her here, so I am glad to get her,” 
replied Mrs Bruler, “and as I have no children, 
there will be no danger of any such quarrels. I 
find her very quiet and gentle and I have no fault 
to find with her.” 

“She is a vicious, wicked girl!” cried Mrs. Jones. 
“I tell you, you will be sorry yet, that you took 
her in. She won’t believe the Bible, and she 
wouldn’t be a Christian, even after Mr. Pheelbad 
explained it to her, and spent his time trying to 
make her see the truth. She was wilful and ob- 


'218 


EVA. 


stinate to the very last, and positively refused to 
be saved. There is no religion in her.” 

“Oh, well, that won’t make any difference to 
me,” replied Mrs. Bruler. “I like Eva, and I can 
get along with her. It is nothing to me what she 
does or does not believe.” 

“Then you won’t send her away? You will keep 
her in spite of all she has done?” 

“I’ll keep her as long as I can, certainly,” replied 
Mrs. Bruler, a little coldly. 

“Then I’ll bid you good-day,” said Mrs. Jones, 
marching out with all the dignity at her com- 
mand. She had come for the purpose of turning 
the scales against Eva, and failed, and went home 
in a very unpleasant frame of mind. As she passed 
out of Mrs. Bruler’s yard, she saw Curley lying on 
the front door-step. She called him and he came 
to her, but no amount of coaxing would induce 
him to accompany her home. Happening to look 
up she saw Mrs. Bruler’s smiling face at the open 
window. 

“Do you encourage my dog to stay here, also?” 
asked Mrs. Jones, angrily. 

“He does not need any encouragement,” replied 
Mrs. Bruler, smiling, “he stays here of his own 
free will.” 

“She’s all in sympathy with that little hussy,” 
muttered Mrs. Jones, as she walked rapidly home- 
ward. 

One thing that Eva noticed, and wondered at, 
was Mrs. Bruler’s treatment of Curley. The little 
dog stayed with them all the time, never going 


EYA. 


219 


home even for a short visit. Mrs. Bruler was very 
kind to him, and petted him when Dan Bruler was 
not about the house, but as soon as he appeared 
she assumed the utmost indifference, almost amount- 
ing to dislike toward Curley. One day Eva ques- 
tioned her as to her reason for this, and she replied 
that if her husband thought she disliked the an- 
imal and was annoyed by it, he would be per- 
fectly willing to have it about the place, but if she 
should evince the least affection for it, he would 
either kill it or drive it away. 

“I had a canary once,” she said “and he knew I 
loved the sweet little singer, so he killed it one day 
when I was out. I found it with its head crushed 
in, and quite dead, in the bottom of its cage, when 
I came home. I should have taken warning by 
that, not to try to keep any pets, but I was fool- 
ish enough to get a kitten, for I wanted some- 
thing I could love, and one day when he was 
angry, he took it by the tail and dashed its brains 
out against a tree, right before my eyes. Then I 
never tried to get any more pets, for I knew what 
their fate would be. I used to suffer tortures at 
the way he treated our horse, until one day when 
he was out on the street with a heavy load, and 
was whipping the poor animal unmercifully because 
it could not draw it, one of our neighbors — a man 
named Ely Nayburn — saw him, and had him ar- 
rested for cruelty, and the justice fined him ten 
dollars. After that he was pretty careful how he 
used the horse, for fear of another such experience, 
and he knows that the next fine would be heavier. 


220 


EVA. 


But he hated Ely Nayburn so for a long time that 
I was afraid he would kill him out of revenge. I 
hope you will be very* careful and do nothing to 
anger him, for you could not live under this roof 
with him if you did, and Oh, Eva, I want you to 
stay with me as long as possible, for you are like 
a sunbeam in the house. You have brightened my 
life more than you can realize since you came.” 

“How you must hate him,” cried Eva. Her blue 
eyes were almost black with the intensity of her 
feelings. “I should think you would hate him so 
that you would wish he was dead. How can you 
endure to live such a life?” 

“One can get accustomed to almost anything in 
time,” answered Mrs. Bruler with a sigh, “and I 
am not the only one in this world who is unhappy. 
There are others just as miserable.” 

“But I don’t think it is fair for one person to be 
allowed to spoil another person’s life. I can’t see 
any sense in it. If that is marriage I don’t wonder 
that Fanchette was determined to keep me from 
it. She always said I should never marry. Of all 
things she declared that to be the worst, and I 
guess she was right in her opinion of it.” 

“But, my dear child, all men are not bad. Some 
marriages are happy and turn out well. I know a 
number of good, kind men, and some of them have 
wives who are making their lives perfectly miser- 
able.” 

“Then why don’t you leave your merciless tyrant 
and get one of them? I’m sure you could make 
him happy, and if he was good to you, everything 
would be much better for you both.” 


EYA. 


221 


“Oh, my dear, you don’t understand the ways 
of the world at all. I’m sure I don’t see how you 
came to grow up like a little wild rose with- 
out any training. But people can’t change their 
husbands and wives as they do their clothes, and 
cast them aside if they don’t happen to suit.” 

“Well, I’m sure I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” 
said Eva. “Why ought a person to be unhappy 
and wretched all through life, just because they 
made a mistake and got taken in? There certainly 
ought to be some way out of it.” 

“Some people do separate and get divorces, but 
I don’t really believe in doing so. It never seemed 
just right to me. I suppose I take a very serious 
view of marriage, but it has always seemed to me 
that I ought to keep my marriage vows just as I 
would any solemn promise; but I am glad that 
life does not last forever, and in Heaven — they say 
— there is no marriage, or giving in marriage, so 
there I shall be free.” 

“Are you a Christian?” asked Eva. 

“I try to be.” 

“Is your husband a Christian, too?” 

“I hardly think he is.” 

“Then according to Mr. Pheelbad’s theory, he 
won’t go to the same place you do, so you will 
get rid of him for good, then. I should think you 
would be glad of that, for if he was a Christian, 
too, he would go to Heaven with you, and then 
he could follow you about and torment you for- 
ever.” 

“People are not supposed to go to Heaven, Eva, 


222 


EVA. 


unless they are good. If my husband wants to 
get to Heaven he will have to be a good man.” 

“Oh, not necessarily,” said Eva. “The Rev. Mr.. 
Pheelbad says that if one will only believe the 
story of Christ that is all that is necessary. All 
they have to do is to say, ‘Lord, I believe,’ and 
if they are thieves, or even murderers, it will save 
them. He says if their sins be scarlet, they will be 
white as snow after that. He said that no matter 
how good or honest a man or woman might be, 
they couldn’t be saved unless they believed in 
Christ, so I suppose there will be a good many 
honest, kind-hearted people in hell because they 
didn’t believe any more than I did, because they 
couldn’t. They’ll be lost according to his theory y . 
but I don’t believe one word of it.” 

“Oh, well, Eva, it is all a great mystery, and all 
we can do is to have faith, and hope that all will 
be well, and do the very best we can. What is to 
be, will be.” 

“Mr. Pheelbad said that if anyone would have 
faith they could move a mountain. Just command 
it to move and it would do their bidding. I 
thought at first that he was crazy, but Mrs. Jones 
said that good Christians have that kind of faith, 
and I asked her if any of them had ever moved even 
a hill, with it, and she didn’t like it because I asked 
her that, and she did not make me any answer.” 

Mrs. Bruler laughed. “You asked them more 
questions than they wanted to answer, my dear. 
I should like to have been there and seen them 
during your cross examination.” 


EVA. 


223 : 


A day or so after this conversation Eva said: “I 
would like to ask you a question, Mrs. Bruler.” 

“Well, what is it, my dear?” 

“Is there a place in this village that is called 
the haunted house? The boy who sent me here 
said there was. He said he saw the place when 
he was here five years ago.” 

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Bruler, “it stands on the 
outer edge of the village. We will walk out there 
some day, if you like, and go through the grounds. 
You would hardly care to go into the house, 1 
presume.” 

“Oh, yes I would!” cried Eva. “I have read lots 
of ghost stories — but of course nobody believes 
them — and I have always wanted to see a real 
haunted house. That is, one that is said to be 
really haunted.” 

“Then we will go there some day,” said Mrs. 
Bruler, smiling at Eva’s enthusiasm. 

As time passed Eva was conscious of a growing 
feeling of homesickness, a longing to see Fanchette 
and Dick. When she first came to the village the 
novelty of everything and the beauty of the 
country had taken up her attention to the 
exclusion of everything else, but now she had been 
away from home seven weeks and the desire to see 
the dear familiar faces became at times almost 
more than she could bear. If she could have been 
sure that her hateful persecutor had gone for good 
she would have returned to the city by the next 
train, but the dread of meeting the detestable Will 
Evers decided her to wait a while longer. Mrs.. 


224 


EVA. 


Bruler was very kind to her, and if it had not been 
for the brutality of the master of the house, she 
would have been quite content. As it was, she 
felt that her presence in the house afforded some 
slight protection to its mistress, for it served to 
moderate, to some extent, his vile language to her. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


One day Dan Bruler went away on one of his 
periodical sprees and was gone two weeks. Eva 
and Airs. Bruler were alone excepting for Curley’s 
presence in the house. 

As the man had taken the horse, Airs. Bruler 
had no idea how far he had gone. There were 
little hamlets or villages scattered through the 
country at intervals of a few miles, and as he was 
acquainted with all the kindred spirits for drink- 
ing and carousing, she had no way of knowing in 
what direction he had gone. 

They took advantage of his absence to put the 
little house in perfect order, for anything in the 
line of house-cleaning always put him into the 
worst of humors when he was about, and Mrs. 
Bruler even decided to plant some rosebushes in a 
corner of the yard, hoping that he would not 
notice them when he did come home. 

“Air. Nay burn promised to give me the plants 
whenever I wanted to set them out,” she said to 
Eva, “but I told him I would wait till some time 
when Dan was away from home. I’ll let you take 
a note over there for me, Eva, and either he or 
Airs. Nay burn will get them for you.” She pointed 
out the house and Eva went on the errand. 


226 


EYA. 


She found Ely Nayburn and Cindy among the 
flowers and plants in their garden. Ely was 
stirring the soil and loosening up the earth where 
the last heavy shower had packed it down too 
solidly, and Cindy was making a variety of sug- 
gestions in regard to what she thought ought to 
be done, to all of which he paid little attention, 
going on with his work as he thought best. 

“Why don’t you pull up that long, straggly 
weed that’s runnin’ all over the bed among them 
geraniums?” she said impatiently. 

“Why, Cindy, that is your wonderful little 
mauranda vine you planted the seed for so care- 
fully.” 

“I know better, Ely Nayburn. I guess I know a 
mauranda vine when I see one. Pull it up, I say.” 

“But it’s all full of buds; its almost ready to 
blossom,” he said. 

“It’s nothin’ but a weed, I tell you. Men don’t 
know nothin’ about flowers and you’re one of the 
biggest fools in the lot,” she said scornfully, her 
eyes growing sullen with anger. 

“All right, up she comes,” he said, putting the 
spade under the root and lifting it out. As he did 
so a branch of the vine which had been almost 
hidden under a geranium plant was drawn into 
view, bearing a sweet, delicate little lavender-colored 
flower. He laid the uprooted vine at her feet, and 
called her attention to the blossom. 

“Put it right straight back in the ground this 
minute,” she said. “It is my mauranda vine. I 
wouldn’t lose it for anything. You ought to have 


EYA. 


227 


known better than to dig it up. Ely Nayburn, 
you’re the biggest fool I ever see in all my life. 
What did you dig it up for? Just to be mean, I 
suppose.” 

“You insisted that I should, Cindy. I did as 
you told me to.” 

“It’s no such a thing!” she retorted angrily. “I 
never told you to dig up my mauranda vine. I 
thought it was a weed.” 

Just at this juncture Eva came into the garden 
and gave the note to Ely. Cindy watched him 
suspiciously while she also kept an eye on Eva. 

“You’re Mrs. Bruler’s little new girl, ain’t you, 
dear?” she said in coaxing tones as though speak- 
ing to a small child. 

“I have been with Mrs. Bruler only a short 
time,” replied Eva. 

“Aint you goin’ to stay there right along?” 

“For a time, at least. I cannot tell how long.” 

“What’s wanted, Ely?” Cindy said, coming to 
him and trying to read the note over his shoulder. 

“Mrs. Bruler is ready to set out those rose 
bushes I promised to give her. They are in the 
boxes behind the house, you know. 

“Dan’s gone away, aint he?” she asked, turning 
to Eva. Eva answered in the affirmative. 

“You cannot carry them,” said Ely. “I planted 
them in boxes of earth so that they could be 
moved any time and the boxes broken away from 
them so they could be set out without disturbing 
the roots. I’ll carry them over right away, for I 
suppose she wants to get them planted before Dan 
gets home.” 


228 


EVA. 


Eva thanked him and turned to go, but before 
she reached the street she heard Cindy say in tones 
of suppressed rage: 

‘‘You aint goin’ over there one step when Dan 
Bruler is away from home. Roses or no roses, I 
won’t have it. A nice time you’d have a-settin’ 
out rosebushes with Mrs. Bruler. I know you, 
Ely Nayburn, and you aint goin’ one step.” 

For answer he strode away and soon returned 
with the two boxes, but Cindy planted herself be- 
fore him ere he had taken ten steps toward the 
street. He stopped an instant and looked at her, 
then turning went swiftly out through a side 
path and started down the street toward Bruler’s. 
She waddled after him, calling to him to come 
back until she saw that pursuit was useless, then 
she returned, and taking up the mauranda vine, 
dug a hole in the flower bed and set it in again, 
her tears falling fast upon it. 

“He’s the meanest man I ever see,” she said be- 
tween her sobs, “but I’ll fix him when he comes 
home.” 

Mrs. Bruler had told Eva that when they had 
completed the tasks which she thought necessary 
to accomplish during Dan Bruler’s absence they 
would take the time some day to visit the haunted 
house. They looked forward to it with mutual 
pleasure, but the night before the day on which 
they decided to go, Dan Bruler drove into the yard 
with a foam-covered horse on which were the 
marks of the cruel lash. He was only able to get 


EVA. 


229 


into the house, where he fell full length on the 
kitchen floor and lav cursing for a time. 

Mrs. Bruler hastened out to the relief of the 
suffering horse which she unhitched and put in the 
stable, and having made the animal as comfortable 
as she could, she hurried back to the house. 

Assisting her husband to his bed, she left Eva to 
attend to the supper and devoted her own time to 
the besotted wretch whose every other word was 
an oath, and who would have done her personal 
violence had he not been too nearly helpless. 
That night, some time in the small hours, she 
came to Eva’s bedside and with a frightened look 
on her sweet face requested Eva to get up quickly, 
dress herself and go for the village doctor. “I am 
afraid it is delirium tremens,” she said, “and I 
am afraid to wait any longer. I must have some 
one here to help me. Just hear that,” — she shud- 
dered as a hoarse sound something between a cry 
and a growl came to their ears through the par- 
tition. “Go first to Nayburn’s and ask him to 
come. I think if any man in this place can con- 
trol him, he can, and as soon as you have told 
him go to Dr. Rhine's and tell him to come at 
once.” She hurried back to her charge, while Eva, 
trembling with terror, caused partly by the hide- 
ous sounds which came from the next room and 
partly by anxiety for Mrs. Bruler’s safety, hurried 
on her clothing, and throwing a shawl about her, 
left the house and ran swiftly in the direction of 
the Nayburn home. The night was not dark for 
the moon was scudding through fleecy clouds, and 


230 


EYA. 


Eva never thought of being frightened on her own 
account. Her one thought now was to get Mr. 
Nayburn to the house as quickly as possible to 
protect and assist Mrs. Bruler. 

She slowed her steps as she entered the Nayburn 
dooryard, and stood hesitating an instant, not 
knowing which door she had better knock at. As 
she was considering the advisability of going 
around to the side door, the dog in the house be- 
gan to bark. Then suddenly a window in the 
second story was shoved up with a bang, a round, 
fat face surmounted by a tightly twisted knot of 
hair appeared in the opening and a voice husky 
with anger said: “If you don’t git out o’ them 
flowers I’ll put a gun through ye.” 

Eva had not thought of being near the flower 
beds until this ominous warning reached her ears. 
She stepped out from the shadow of the trees and 
coming toward the window said in imploring 
tones: “Oh, Mrs. Nayburn it is only I. Won’t you 
please tell Mr. Nayburn that there is a man in a 
dreadful condition and they want him to come 
and help, please.” 

If there was anything that would arouse every 
particle of interest and sympathy which Cindy 
Nayburn possessed, it was sickness or death among 
her acquaintances. She was all interest at once. 
“I’ll come right down, dear,” she said. “I thought 
you was some boys that have been stealin’ my 
flowers lately. I hope you won’t mind what I 
said about the gun.” 

The window went down with a bang, and soon 


EYA. 


231 


the key turned in the lock of the front door, the 
round, fat face appearing this time with an ex- 
pression of the deepest commiseration. 

“Ely is puttin’ on his clo’s just as fast as he can. 
I told him not to forgit them, and he’ll be down 
in a minute. Now tell me who’s sick, and what’s 
the matter with them.’’ 

Eva told her all, and she, forgetting all anger 
and jealousy toward Mrs. Bruler, offered to do 
anything she could to help in any way. “I knew 
that poor Dan Bruler would git the tremers some 
day,’’ she said. “I know folks have been awful 
down on him, but if he dies I guess they will be 
sorry they said anything. The tremers is a ter- 
rible thing. I know, fer I saw ’em play Ten Nights 
in a Bar-Room, once, an’ it was just awful. I’ve 
told Ely lots of times, that Dan Bruler would 
either have ’em or else git fatally killed some time 
if he didn’t quit drinkin,’ didn’t I, Ely?” 

“You say so many things, Cindy, I can’t remem- 
all of them,” replied Ely, who was now ready, and 
opening the door, motioned Eva to proceed. They 
left the house and parted as they reached the 
street, Eva to go for the doctor, while Ely Nay- 
burn started on a run for the Bruler house. 

When Eva had aroused the docter and told him 
what was wanted, he lost no time in preparing to 
accompany her. 

“Poor little woman,” she heard him mutter as 
he prepared his medicine case, “I feel sorry for her.” 

They started off and Eva had to almost run to 
keep up with his long, rapid strides. Not a word 


232 


EYA. 


was spoken until they had almost reached the house, 
then Eva, who had been thinking intently, laid her 
hand on the doctor’s sleeve. He looked down at 
her questioningly, she hesitated a moment, then 
said: “If there is any hope of his dying you won’t 
save him, will you? Please, sir, you don’t know 
what a wretch he is to her. If he will only die, 
tonight, how much happier dear Mrs. Bruler’s life 
will be after he is gone. You won’t give him any- 
thing to save his life, will you?” 

The physician looked curiously down at the 
sweet, earnest face, upturned in the moonlight, 
and its beauty and innocence touched him deeply. 

“My dear child,” he said, “do you want me to 
let him die when I might save him if I would?” 

“Oh, yes, yes!” she replied, her blue eyes growing 
almost black with the intensity of her feelings. 
“If he would only die it would be the most sensi- 
ble thing he could do. She will be miserable and 
unhappy as long as he lives. He swears at her and 
abuses her all the time. If you could only know 
what a fiend he is I’m sure you would want him 
to die, so that she might take some comfort. She 
is so good and gentle and kind to everything and 
everybody.” 

“Well, why don’t she leave him, then?” asked 
the doctor brusquely. “She is not obliged to live 
with him. There isn’t a judge or jury in the land 
that wouldn’t take her side. I’ve no patience with 
a woman who will let a man ill-treat her, in this 
free and enlightened country. There is no sense in 
it. She can leave him, can’t she?” 


EYA. 


233 


“She thinks she must not, because she is married 
to him. She thinks it would be a sin.” 

“Stuff and nonsense,” said the doctor testily. 
“That is too much like the boy who stood on the 
burning deck, waiting for his father to tell him to 
go — to get out of the fire. I always said that boy 
was more of a fool than a hero. And I think just 
the same of a woman who will stand a lifetime of 
abuse when she don’t have to.” 

They reached the house and entered hastily, and 
Eva directed him to the room whence issued sounds 
more like those of an angry wild beast than any- 
thing human. Then putting her fingers in her ears, 
she sat down on the stairs, to be within reach if 
she was needed, and Curley came and lay down 
on the stair beside her. 

In the gray dawn of morning Dr. Rhine and Ely 
Naj^burn coming out of the sick room together, 
found her huddled up there, fast asleep. The doc- 
tor laid his hand gently on her curly head. She 
awoke with a start, rubbed her eyes and sat up. 
“You may go to bed now, little girl,” he said 
kindly. “You will not be needed for anything 
more at present.” 

“Did he die?” she asked breathlessly. 

“No, he will live through this.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she sighed, regretfully. 
“Where is Mrs. Bruler?” 

“She is going to get a little rest, now, and you 
had better take another nap.” 

They passed on out of the house, and Curley 
thrust his cold nose into her hand. 


234 


EVA. 


“I’ll give you your breakfast, little dog,” she 
said, rising to her feet, feeling cramped in every 
limb. She went into the kitchen and fed the dog, 
then going softly upstairs she hesitated at the door 
of the sick-room. But soft as her footsteps were, 
Mrs. Bruler heard them and came to the door. 

“It’s all right now, Eva,” she said, with a wan 
smile. “I am going to lie down and take a nap, 
and you had better go to your bed and get some 
sleep.” 

“But don’t you want me to make you some 
toast and tea, or get something that you can eat?” 

“You may, by and by, my dear, but just now 
we will get some rest.” 

In a few days Dan Bruler was seemingly as well 
as ever, and he was filled with a vindictive rage 
at the thought that Ely Nayburn— the -man of all 
others— should have been called in to “manage” 
him on the night of his drunken delirium. His 
temper, which was always of the worst, seemed to 
be taking on an addition to its already abnormal 
growth. He suddenly developed an intense jeal- 
ousy toward Ely Nayburn, and his conduct toward 
his long-suffering wife was more barbarous than 
ever. Half a dozen times a day Mrs. Bruler cau- 
tioned Eva to be very careful not to do or say 
anything to turn his anger against her, for Eva’s 
indignation rose almost beyond control, and she 
could hardly contain her feelings when she wit- 
nessed the abuse that was heaped upon her friend. 

“You are all the comfort I have,” said the little 
woman to her, “and if you provoke his anger he 


EVA. 


235 


will turn you out of the house, and then I shall be 
alone and have no one. Do you not see how I 
need you, my dear child, and can you not realize 
how necessary it is for you to be careful?” And 
Eva promised compliance. 

One day Mrs. Bruler received a letter from an 
aunt, who lived in another town, and was ill with 
what she believed to be her last illness, requesting 
Mrs. Bruler to come to her for a few days at least, 
as she wished to see her and make some arrange- 
ments about her property before she died. Mrs. 
Bruler broached the subject to the household 
tyrant in fear and trembling, and met with a 
pleasant surprise. Her lord and master advised 
her to go by all means. “For,” said he with an 
oath, “the old girl may leave you some of her 
money if you jolly her up a little, and if you 
don’t go near her now she surely won’t.” 

So Mrs. Bruler prepared to go, and Eva, with a 
joyful heart, assisted her to get ready. That her 
friend was going to have a few days of peace and 
rest, was a cause for thankfulness. 

“But what about you, Eva?” said Mrs. Bruler. 
“You can’t stay here with Dan. I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do. I’ll make arrangements for you to stay at 
Ely Nay burn’s while I am gone. They will be 
glad to have you, for you can help Mrs. Nayburn 
about her work. I’ll take time to see them before 
I go, but I know they will want you.” 

“But I can go back to the city,” said Eva, her 
heart bounding with joy at the thought of again 
seeing Fanchette and Dick. Mrs. Bruler’s face 


236 


EYA. 


clouded over. She did not fancy having Eva re- 
turn to the city. From certain things that Eva 
had unconsciously said during her stay with her, 
she suspected that the place she had come from in 
the city was not such a place as she would want 
a young sister of her’s to make her home. It was 
only a vague suspicion, she had no positive evi- 
dence, but she did not like the idea of Eva’s going 
back, though she could hardly have told why if 
questioned as to her reasons. 

She strongly urged, and finally made Eva prom- 
ise that she would not go back to the city until 
she returned, and that she would go and stay with 
the Nayburns if they wanted her; and so it was 
arranged. 

Ely Nayburn and his wife had been discussing 
that very thing, in the seclusion of their home, 
soon after the night on which he had been sum- 
moned so hastily. 

“That girl, Eva, has good blood in her veins, or 
I am no judge,” said Ely. “She shows it in every 
way.” 

“If she hadn’t,” said Cindy, “Mrs. Bruler would 
give her burdock root and sulphur and molasses 
till she got her cured up. I know she would do 
all she could for her.” 

“No, no, Cindy, I wasn’t referring to blood dis- 
ease. I mean that the girl shows good birth — 
shows every indication of having come of good 
stock.” 

“She’s real pretty,” said Cindy. “I wish I could 
git such a girl to stay here and help me, especially 
when Jessamine comes out here again.” 


EYA. 


237 


“When did she say she would be here?” asked 
Ely. 

“She’s cornin’ home with Cecil. You know Ce- 
cil’s up to the city visitin’ her, now, and Jessamine 
said in her last letter that she should come out 
with Cecil, for a few days, so I suppose it will be 
when Cecil comes home.’’ 


CHAPTER XV. 

In the elegant mansion which Jessamine Erlwin 
called her home, Cecil Lexington was having the 
time of her life. The invitation to visit there, 
which she had worked so hard to win, had come 
at last, and she felt fully repaid for any inconven- 
ience which she had been subjected to in entertain- 
ing her friend. The terrible fright she had endured 
in visiting the haunted house, to please Jessamine, 
by affording her a unique experience, had been 
amply rewarded. 

In her plain, yet comfortable life in the farm- 
house, she had often dreamed of luxuries and tried 
to imagine herself in a position of ease and wealth, 
but in all her dreams she had never pictured any- 
thing that would at all 'compare with life as she 
found it in Jessamine’s home. 

Before she had been there two weeks an over- 
powering desire for wealth took possession of her. 
The thought of “dragging out a miserable exist- 
ence, buried alive” — as she styled it to herself— 
“on a farm,” became unbearable. What would 
she not do for such a life as Jessamine led, sur- 
rounded by every pleasure! 

“I don’t see how you can endure Greendell for 


EYA. 


239 ' 


even a day,” she said to Jessamine. “I shouldn’t 
think anything less than life or death would in- 
duce you to ever go there, and yet you visit your 
uncle for two or three weeks at a time. I don’t 
wonder that you felt so much in need of amuse- 
ment that you proposed the haunted house as a 
last resort.” 

Jessamine laughed. “Oh, I love the country,” 
she said. “I am really happy when I can go on a 
visit to uncle Ely. I love the fields and woods, 
the beautiful sunsets, the little lake, and the brook 
with its pools and shady nooks, and the banks all 
blossoming with violets. I believe I love the little 
wild flowers I get in the woods and fields better 
than the great, rich hot-house flowers we buy in 
the city. That old haunted house and the grounds 
about it are charming, and the air of mystery and 
sorrow that hangs over it makes it irresistible. 
What a night that was! How the moon shone 
and lighted up everything. Didn’t the old place 
look grand and solemn? I can see it now.” 

Cecil could not repress a little shiver as she re- 
called the events of that night. “I think you ap- 
preciated the beauty of it more than I did,” she 
replied. 

Jessamine had never told anyone the story which 
Ernest Grayland had told to her, of the little lost 
heiress of the haunted house; of her being alive 
and of the search which was to be made for her. 
She felt that it would be better left untold unless 
he was successful, and when the lost was found it 
would be time enough for the world to hear of it... 


240 


EYA. 


She knew that if it became known that he was 
searching for a lost heiress he would be beset 
with impostors of all kinds who would come for- 
ward to claim the inheritance, so she wisely said 
nothing. 

She had informed her father and aunt that she 
had met young Mr. Grayland and made his ac- 
quaintance at a house in Greendell where she was 
calling with some friends, and that explanation 
being satisfactory in every respect, the way was 
now open for Ernest to call upon her occasionally, 
which he was quick to make the most of. He 
grew more and more interested in the beautiful 
girl every time he saw her. He told her that he 
had communicated with his father who was still 
abroad, and informed him of the wonderful revela- 
tion in regard to little Evangeline being still living 
and his father had instructed him to go ahead 
with the search and spare neither time or money 
in his efforts to find her. “So 1 shall soon be 
ready to devote my whole time to it,” he said, 
“and let us hope to be successful.” 

He had called once since Cecil had been staying 
with Jessamine and taken them for a drive in the 
park, making himself so agreeable that Cecil was 
charmed with him, and began to wonder if it 
might not be possible for her to win his love and 
so promote her chances for that life of wealth and 
luxury and power which she so much desired. 
“But then,” she said to herself, “such men gener- 
ally marry in their own class; so I might as well 
give up all thoughts of that.” But nevertheless she 


EVA. 


241 


put on her very best manner and wore her prettiest 
dresses whenever there was a prospect of meeting 
him, and she took particular pains to lead him to 
think that she was very good and’ very much of a 
Christian. She talked about missionary work and 
tried to impress him with a sense of her great in- 
terest in all charitable works. 

She had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Trotter, 
who was an intimate friend of Jessamine’s aunt 
Anna, and found her a very congenial spirit. Mrs. 
Trotter was always doing slum work, and she 
took Cecil under her care and introduced her to 
the slums and their inhabitants, greatly to Cecil’s 
delight. She saw people living under conditions 
that she never would have believed possible. 

Jessamine had privately informed Mrs. Trotter 
that Cecil was not rich, and that she should there- 
fore not encourage her in too lavish giving, but 
that advice was wholly unnecessary for Cecil went 
into the slums to see the sights, not to relieve the 
suffering. She told Jessamine that she saw very 
few among all that they visited who seemed 
worthy of help. “They are so dirt} r and many of 
them seem so vulgar and even vicious.” She added, 
“I shall never help anyone who is so coarse and 
low.” 

Mrs. Trotter told Jessamine afterward that there 
was no danger that Cecil would bankrupt herself 
for she had given away only fifteen cents during 
the whole day’s trip. Five cents to a little rag- 
a-muffin for standing for a snap shot from Cecil’s 
kodak, five cents to a boy for carrying her hand 


242 


EVA. 


satchel for about an hour and five cents to an 
old woman for getting her a drink of water. “I 
don’t think the slums will ever be revolutionized 
through any effort on her part,” she said, laugh- 
ing, “for I notice that she gets the worth of her 
money whenever she gives up any of it.” 

“How I wish I could get you interested in slum 
work,” said Cecil to Jessamine. “The poor people 
whom I gave anything to seemed so glad to get 
it. I suppose they don’t have enough to eat half 
of the time.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t take as much interest in 
them as I ought to,” said Jessamine, carelessly. 
“There are so many imposters one is very apt to 
be deceived by tales of woe which are manufac- 
tured for the occasion, and the money indis- 
criminately given, finds its way to the rum shop.” 

One evening when Jessamine’s father and aunt 
were both away, and not expected home until 
midnight or after, there came a ring at the door. 
The two girls were alone in the drawing-room. 
Without waiting for the servant to open the door. 
Jessamine sprang up, intercepted the man and, 
sending him away, opened the door herself. Cecil 
was very curious to know who the caller could be 
whom Jessamine would hasten to meet at the door, 
but although she strained her ears to hear, she 
could only catch the faint sound of voices in the 
hall. Then a door shut on the other side and Jes- 
samine came back into the drawing room and 
begged Cecil to excuse her for an hour as she had 
a call to make which was urgent. After she had 


EYA. 


243 


left the room Cecil arose and, crossing the hall, 
tried the door of the reception room and found it 
locked. She went back and took up a position 
where she could see when the door should open. 
After waiting for perhaps fifteen minutes Jessamine 
came swiftly down the stairs, and going to the 
reception room door, opened it and spoke softly to 
someone within. From her hiding place Cecil could 
not get a close view, but she saw that Jessamine 
was dressed more plainly than she had ever seen 
her. As she watched, the reception room door 
opened wider and a man came out, and after say- 
ing something in a low tone, they left the house 
together. Cecil gazed after them in amazement, 
then running to a front window she saw the two 
figures passing down the street. It was growing 
dusk and the street lights were beginning to flash 
up. A cab stood waiting a few steps down the 
street. She saw them enter it and disappear. 

“Well, here is a mystery,” said Cecil to herself. 
“Miss Jessamine Erlwin going out in the early 
evening with a strange man, and her father and 
aunt away and no one the wiser. I must watch 
my lady a little closer after this. I have always 
heard that these high-toned women had some 
secrets which they did not care to have known, 
but it seems to me Miss Jessamine is beginning 
rather young. I’ll find out about this or my name 
isn’t Cecil Lexington. It grows interesting.” 

It was nearly two hours before Jessamine re- 
turned, but though she apologized for her long 
absence from her guest, she offered no explanation 
as to where she had been or why she went. 


244 


EVA. 


About a week later when the two girls were 
again left alone, with the exception of the servants, 
Cecil, who was now on the alert for anything 
that might look suspicious, saw Jessamine go to a 
table, and pulling out a little drawer, take from 
it a transparent picture. Going to one of the 
front windows of the drawing-room she hung the 
transparency on the tassel of the window shade, 
and stood for a few moments looking down into 
the street. Then returning to her chair she re- 
sumed her conversation with Cecil as though 
nothing unusual was in her thoughts. A half hour 
passed and the bell rang and Jessamine hastened 
to the door as on the former occasion and again 
excused herself to Cecil as before. Again Cecil saw 
her leave the house, dressed very plainly and 
closely veiled, accompanied by a man, while down 
the street was a waiting cab, into which they 
stepped and were driven away. 

Cecil never left her post, but watched with the 
intensity^ with which a cat waits for a mouse, 
and was at last rewarded by seeing the two 
figures coming along the street; saw them pause 
at the foot of the entrance steps and the man lift 
his cap and walk swiftly away as Jessamine ran 
up the steps and rang for admittance. Cecil step- 
ped into the hall as the servant opened the door, 
hoping that Jessamine would give some explana- 
tion as to where she had been, but she did not, 
nor did she allude to it in any way after she had 
changed her dress and joined Cecil in the drawing- 
room. 


EYA. 


245 


It was all very mysterious and tantalizing and 
Cecil began to feel that she could never be happy 
unless she could find out all about it. She dared 
not question Jessamine, for there was always a 
dignity about the girl that held people in check 
when inclined to be either familiar or inquisitive, 
and Cecil wished to keep on the very warmest 
terms with her friend, for in that direction lay all 
her hopes of seeing glimpses of the high life which 
she so craved. If she should do anything to offend 
Jessamine Erlwin, she might vegetate in that old 
farmhouse in Greendell until she died of old age, 
and never get another opportunity to enjoy the 
delights she had enjoyed since her visit began in 
her friend’s magnificent home. The thought of go- 
ing back to the farm at all was growing un- 
bearable to her. If there was only some way to 
win a place in such a home as this. If she could 
ever hope to live like this every day, she felt that 
she would be willing to barter her very soul; give 
twenty years of her life for such luxuries. 

Jessamine was all unconscious of the tempest of 
discontent and envy that was raging in her com- 
panion’s heart. She had grown up amid such 
surroundings and therefore their familiarity made 
them common to her. She had not thought of the 
matter at all. She sat chatting with Cecil and 
there was an expression of such satisfaction and 
happiness on her beautiful face that Cecil noticed 
it and wondered at it. 

“She looked like that the other time she came 
home after her mysterious evening outing,” thought 


246 


EYA. 


Cecil. “I should think she would look confused 
and rather guilty if she is up to any improper 
pranks. I wish I could find out where she goes.” 

One day Mrs. Trotter came in all breathless 
with excitement. “I have something new for you 
now, my dears, in the way of entertainment,” she 
said laughing. “You never can guess what it is.” 

“Of course we can’t,” cried Jessamine. “You 
will have to tell us, dear Mrs. Trotter.” 

“Well, then, it is this: Some of the ladies of our 
church are going down among the houses of ill- 
repute and try to induce the women who run 
those houses to reform, and lead better lives. Of 
course, we are going to appoint a certain day to 
meet and go in a company, for we would not 
think of going to one of those places in twos and 
threes. There will be about twenty of us and I 
know it will not interest Jessamine particularly, 
but I thought Miss Lexington is enough interested 
in mission work so that she might be willing to 
join our little band. This will be a little out of 
the ordinary.” 

“How perfectly grand of you,” said Jessamine’s 
aunt. “How noble and good and self-sacrificing. 
I’m sure that is real Christianity. Those awful 
women ought to go down on their bended knees 
to you all for taking an interest in them to that 
extent, that you will go into their houses to 
speak to them. They ought to be very grateful, 
I’m sure.” 

“Do you want to be one of our little band?” 
asked Mrs. Trotter of Cecil. 


EVA. 


247 


“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Cecil. She had been 
quick to notice that Jessamine’s aunt approved of 
it, and answered accordingly. 

“Would you like to go with us?” Mrs. Trotter 
next asked that lady. 

“Oh, I have so many engagements,” she replied, 
“and then you know it is not my own church that 
is doing it. I’m sure I wish you all the success 
you so richly deserve, but I don’t believe I had 
better attempt it. I seldom attempt anything so 
strenuous as that. My nerves would hardly bear 
it, but I am very much interested, believe me, my 
dear. I shall be so anxious to hear what success 
you have. I think it is perfectly angelic in you all 
to take so much interest in such wretches, and all 
for their own good.” 

Mrs. Trotter turned to Jessamine. “I suppose it 
is useless to try to interest you in this work. You 
know, my dear, that I could never induce you to 
even go slumming.” 

Jessamine’s face wore a peculiar expression. “I 
do not look upon such women as most people do,” 
she said earnestly. “I think that nine-tenths of 
them have been driven into the lives they lead 
through the cold, steely glances and scornful treat- 
ment which they have received from their own sex. 
The very women who belong to the church, and 
profess so much virtue and perfection, that when 
a woman or girl takes her first downward step, 
they freeze her with their manner, and spread her 
story over their teacups, in the everyday gossip 
and scandal. y When everyone has heard of her 


248 


EVA. 


misfortune, she knows by the averted eyes, the chill- 
ing hauteur, and icy manner of these immaculate 
ones that everyone knows her disgrace and de- 
spises her for it. It makes her reckless and causes 
her to forsake all the places where she is liable to 
meet these good (?) people, and she flies to the 
companionship of those who have been through a 
like experience, and have sunk still lower, and in 
their haunts of vice she prefers to stay, rather 
than to brave the coldness and scorn that will 
meet her everywhere among her former associates. 

“Perhaps she was not naturally bad, and a few 
kind words, and friendly smiles would have saved 
her and helped her to gain a footing again on a higher 
plane; but they are not given, and she sinks lower 
and lower, until all her life and soul become em- 
bittered. It is not as Christ would have dealt 
with her, and yet the very people who pushed her 
on the downward path, claim to be Christians. 
What a mockery. What is a Christian? A Christ- 
ian should be a follower of Christ’s example. What 
would Christ have done? Spoken to her kindly and 
gently, raised her up and bade her ‘go and sin no 
more.’ ” 

Mrs. Trotter gasped. Jessamine’s aunt looked 
exceedingly annoyed. 

“But, my dear child,” said Mrs. Trotter, “if you 
had a friend who did something disgraceful, would 
you not cut her acquaintance?” 

“If a friend of mine took a downward step, and 
I knew it, I would treat her with the greatest 
care and friendliness, until I helped her up again. 


EVA. 


249 


and if her fall was known to no other woman 
than myself, I would keep her secret for her, through 
life and death. I would never give up a friend un- 
til she showed beyond a doubt that she was nat- 
urally vile and adopted vicious ways and vile com- 
panions, of her own free will. I know there are 
such, and that there is no way of helping them to 
any better way, but I believe them to be the ex- 
ception rather than the rule.” 

“Mrs. Trotter,” said Jessamine’s aunt, “I hope 
you will not mind what Jessamine says. She is 
like her mother. My dear sister-in-law always 
contended that people who do wrong are mis- 
guided. That there may be some excuse for what 
they do. That when they do wrong it may be 
the result of a difference of opinion as to what is 
wrong. She argued that persons not all being cre- 
ated alike, could not see things alike, and that 
what was considered wrong by one might be 
looked upon as right by another, and therefore, no 
one had any right to judge his or her fellow-crea- 
ture. But of course, we know that the church is 
perfectly competent to judge, and what it says we 
have to go by.” 

“Mrs. Trotter,” said Jessamine, earnestly, “I 
want you to answer a question, truthfully, and 
without prejudice. If you were to meet with an 
accident, which rendered you helpless, and there 
was no one near to do anything for you, but one 
of these unfortunate women, do you not think you 
would receive as kind and humane treatment at her 


'250 


EVA. 


hands as you would from any stranger who be- 
longs to our own class ?” 

“I think very likely I might,” answered Mrs. 
Trotter, smiling. 

“Then if there are warm hearts among both 
classes, wherein lies the great difference in the 
soul? I know you will say that the stamp of vice 
is on these fallen women. Do you think that all 
the women who pose as respectable, and are re- 
ceived with open arms by society, are as chaste as 
they would lead one to believe? What do we know, 
positively, about the private life of any man or 
woman whom we meet in our own class? Every 
little while some scandal comes out about some 
couple who are prominent in society, or the church. 
Then, if they live such lives, are they any better 
than the outcast? The woman, for instance, who 
meets her lover by intrigue, and all unsuspected, 
perhaps, by her husband or family. I claim that we 
never are sure of the character of people whom we 
entertain right in our own homes.” 

“Well, there is some truth in that, I’ll admit,” 
replied Mrs. Trotter. “Will you go with us, Miss 
Lexington?” 

“With pleasure,” replied Cecil. 

It was arranged that they should go the next 
day, early in the afternoon. 

“We did not tell our pastor anything about it,” 
said Mrs. Trotter, “and the married women will 
not tell their husbands until after we see what 
success we have.” 

“I think they will be sorry they went,” said Jes- 


EYA. 


251 


samine, after Mrs. Trotter had gone. “They knew 
better than to mention it to their pastor, for he 
is a very sensible man, and he would have told 
them very quickly that if they wanted to accom- 
plish anything with those kind of women, they 
would have to go about it in a very different way 
than this. I do not believe the majority of them 
have half so much of a desire to benefit those 
women’s souls, as they have to gratify their own 
idle curiosity, in visiting those places, and if they 
don’t meet with some insolence, and even insults, 
I shall be surprised.” 

“But, Jessamine, it is a great condescension, for 
pure, high-minded church-women, to bring them- 
selves to enter such foul places of iniquity,” said 
her aunt. “Those awful women ought to feel 
humble, and thankful, for the interest displayed in 
trying to lift them up.” 

“That is just where they will make their mis- 
take,” said Jessamine. “There will be sure to be 
some among the twenty, who will wear an air of 
queenly condescension, or else carry themselves as 
though they feared contamination by contact with 
them, while trying to benefit them through a 
lofty sense of duty, and that very thing will arouse 
all the bitterness and resentment their hearts can 
feel, and they will retaliate in a way that will sur- 
prise and horrify Mrs. Trotter and her little band, 
or I am no fair judge of human nature. How 
would we feel to have someone come into our 
home, and introduce the object of their visit as a 
desire on their part to lift us out of the mire, in 


252 


EYA. 


which, according to their opinion, we were wallow- 
ing, and try to bring us at least a few degrees 
higher? I am sure we would resent it, and you 
know, ‘One touch of Nature,’ etc.” 

“Well, I hope the ladies will return safely.” 

“Give yourself no uneasiness on that score,” 
replied Jessamine. “No one will molest them when 
there are twenty of them.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


The party of ladies, which, with Cecil, numbered 
twenty-one, departed on their mission, the next 
afternoon, in hopeful spirits. They returned about 
dark, with angry and crest-fallen faces. Jessamine 
who was waiting with a good deal of curiosity 
to hear the report, saw Mrs. Trotter and Cecil 
as they came up the steps. She hastened to the 
door to admit them, for a fine mist was falling, 
and as they came in, she noticed the expression on 
their faces. When they were divested of their hats 
and umbrellas, and were comfortably seated in the 
drawing-room, she ventured to ask them as to 
the success of the expedition. Jessamine’s aunt 
entered just at this point, and put the same ques- 
tion. 

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Trotter, “of all the brazen, 
hardened wretches I ever encountered in my life, 
I will say that today’s experience has proved the 
worst. We were mocked and insulted at every 
turn, weren’t we, Miss Lexington?” turning to 
Cecil. 

“We certainly were,” admitted Cecil. 

“And as for reforming those creatures, one might 
as well try to reform a wild beast,” continued 


254 


EVA. 


Mrs Trotter. “One woman asked us how much 
we would pay her annually toward her support, if 
she would set up a respectable establishment. We 
told her she ought to make her living by honest 
work. ‘How?’ she asked. ‘By honest work,’ we 
replied. ‘Is there one of you who would give me 
or one of the girls in my house, a position as ser- 
vant in your household?’ she asked next. 

“We hardly knew what answer to make to that, 
but at last one of our party spoke. ‘You could 
hardly expect us to trust you that far,’ she said. 
‘How would we know that you were sincere in 
your reform?’ ‘How would you expect us to prove 
our sincerity without a trial? And how would 
you expect we could live while we were proving, 
it, unless we had employment of some kind?’ were 
her next questions. ‘You could go to work in some 
shop or store. We would all go and use our influ- 
ence to procure you a place,’ our spokesman said. 
‘The stores and shops are overcrowded, already, 
and at starvation wages,’ the woman replied. ‘I 
am afraid if that is all you can do for us we shall 
be forced to decline your generous offer, with 
thanks,’ she said, with the most diabolical grin I 
ever saw. ‘Then we can’t persuade you to live 
decently?’ our speaker asked. ‘We live quite de- 
cently, now,’ she said, impudently. ‘Look here.’ 
She opened a double doorway and showed us a 
glimpse of an elegant room, beautifully furnished, 
and asked us if we did not consider that pretty 
decent. We were so disgusted that we did not try 
to do anything more with her. We could see that 


EYA. 


255 


she had no idea of the meaning of the word decent, 

“We went to other houses and met with all 
sorts of insolence. One woman asked us if ‘the 
gospel joints were getting hard-up for new fields 
to work in, that we should come there to kill 
time?’ One of the brazen wretches asked us, with 
mock politeness, if we wouldn’t stay all night, and 
be introduced to their set, and one old, painted 
hag offered to bet that she ‘had as much money 
as any one of us had.’ ‘Then,’ said our spokes- 
woman, ‘if that is the case, what is to hinder 
you from reforming, and becoming a Christian?*' 
‘I’m afraid if I did you’d want me to give all my 
money to the church,’ she replied, chuckling. 

“But the worst insult to us, and our families, 
that we met with anywhere, was given to us by 
a woman called Fanchette Dumond. We went to 
her house and were admitted by a young woman, 
and in a few minutes this Dumond woman came 
sailing into the room, with the air of an empress, 
and asked us to what she ‘owed the honor of our 
visit.’ One of our party replied that ‘we had come 
in the name of Christianity, to see if we could not 
prevail upon her, and others of her class, to give 
up their vile associates, live better lives and keep 
better company.’ She drew herself up with the 
air of an insulted princess, and sweeping our little 
party with a scornful glance, she said: ‘I do not 
understand what you mean by “better” company. 
We have just as good company as you do. In fact, 
we have the very same company that you do. We 
have your husbands, brothers, fathers, sons, and 


256 


EYA. 


lovers for our company. Do you consider them 
vile? If yon do, then I should advise you to cut 
their acquaintance.’ ” 

“Well, I thought some of the ladies would faint 
then,” continued Mrs. Trotter. “I never saw such 
a disheartened set in my life. Of course, as I am 
a widow, and have no sons, or brothers, or father, 
what she had said did not strike me so hard, but 
some of them seemed hardly able to walk to the 
door. We didn’t go to any more of them; we felt 
that we couldn’t stand any more. So we dis- 
banded at the end of that street and came home. 
I don’t believe we shall ever make an effort of that 
kind, again. Those women are bej^ond all aid.” 

“Oh, how you must have suffered,” said Jessa- 
mine’s Aunt Anna. “I know how hard it must 
have been to endure the sight of those places, even 
under the most amicable circumstances, and then 
to be insulted like that was most dreadful.” 

Jessamine had been sitting like a statue ever 
since the mention of that name — Fanchette Du- 
mond. Her face was a study. Her color came and 
went and intense excitement took possession of 
her. Mrs. Trotter was too much absorbed in her 
recital to notice anjThing unusual in Jessamine’s 
looks or manner, and Aunt Anna had been too 
much interested to notice it, but Cecil saw and 
wondered, and grew suspicious as she watched 
her, and at last her suspicions were confirmed by 
hearing Jessamine ask in a voice which she vainly 
strove to stead}^ to its natural tone: “What did 
you say that last woman’s name was?” The re- 


EYA. 


257 


ply when it came almost took away the last 
remnant of Jessamine’s self-possession. 

“Her name is Fanchette Dumond. She is com- 
monly called Fanny Dumond.” 

The conversation went on but Jessamine heeded 
it not. Nor did she know that Cecil’s eyes were 
fixed upon her, watching every breath she drew. 
That name echoed in her ears and rendered her 
unconscious to what was said or done during din- 
ner and up to the time that Mrs. Trotter took her 
departure. After she had gone Aunt Anna retired 
to her room with a headache and orders not to 
be disturbed, and Jessamine’s father departed to 
spend the evening at his club. The two girls were 
alone and Cecil kept a close watch of Jessamine, 
noting her pre-occupied manner and earnest, 
thoughtful expression. She turned suddenly to 
Cecil and asked abrupt^-: 

“When did Mr. Gray land say he would be back 
in the city?” 

“He said he expected to be away about five 
weeks, but that it would depend on the state of 
the business on which he went.” 

“And how long is it since he was here?” asked 
Jessamine. 

“A week ago today,” replied Cecil. 

“Four whole weeks if not more,” murmured Jes- 
samine, with an expression of keen disappointment 
on her face. She was silent and thoughtful for a 
few minutes, then going to the table drawer, she 
took from it the transparency and hung it in the 
front window. A few minutes later the bell rang, 


258 


EVA. 


and she hastened to the door. She returned in a 
moment and expressed regret at being called away 
but declared that the most imperative business re- 
quired her immediate attention. 

Cecil gracefully excused her, saying that as she 
was weary she would like to retire early and get 
a good, long night’s rest. She went upstairs with 
Jessamine and while Jessamine was in her room 
arraying herself for the street, she crept down- 
stairs and hid behind some draperies. She was 
soon rewarded by seeing Jessamine, closely veiled, 
descend the stairs and go straight to the reception 
room. Opening the door she spoke in low tones to 
someone within; but low as her tones were Cecil — 
straining every nerve to catch the words — heard 
her mention the name of the street in which they 
had their unpleasant experience that day, but she 
could not catch the rest of the low spoken words. 
Then the door opened and closed and she hurried 
to the window and saw them going down the 
street. 

“She dropped into a chair trembling with excite- 
ment. A multitude of suspicions chased each other 
through her mind. Could it be possible that Jes- 
samine Erlwin, the proud, refined daughter of the 
rich and influential Mr. Erlwin could be engaged 
in a low intrigue that took her to a quarter of 
the city which she would be unwilling to have 
known by her father and aunt, not to mention 
her friends, and the friends of the family? It 
looked like it certainly. Oh, what would she not 
give if she could only know? But how could she 


EVA. 


259 


find out? She dared not go to Jessamine’s aunt; 
neither would she dare approach her father on so 
delicate a subject. 

While she was pondering on these weighty 
problems the bell rang again, and the servant 
supposing that both young ladies were in the 
drawing-room, announced “Mr. Grayland.” Cecil 
sprang up as though shot, and advanced to meet 
him. He asked if Miss Erlwin was at home, and 
Cecil, with downcast eyes, replied that she was 
out but that she might be in soon. He noticed the 
agitation in her manner and vaguely wondered at 
it. 

“My business did not detain me long, you see,” 
he said. “I returned this morning. I hoped to find 
Miss Erlwin in this evening.” 

Cecil was thinking rapidly. Here was a chance 
to kill any growing interest this man might have 
in regard to Jessamine. If he did not love Jessa- 
mine might she — Cecil — not stand some chance of 
winning him? Oh, if she only could. He was 
handsome, lovable and came of a highly-respected 
family. But best of all, he was rich, and if she 
could win him for a husband, she would never 
need to spend her life in that hateful old farm- 
house, buried alive in a place like Greendell. It 
was worth any effort, but she must be careful — 
very careful. If she did not succeed in winning 
him she must still keep her hold on Jessamine, for 
that would be the only open door for an oppor- 
tunity to catch occasional glimpses of the grand 
life and luxuries which she so craved. She decided 
it was worth some risk. 


260 


EYA. 


She allowed her agitation to increase, and her 
companion, who had addressed a remark to her 
which she did not seem to hear, said: “Miss Lex- 
ington you seem troubled and anxious about 
something. You don’t seem like yourself, tonight.” 
Now was her chance. 

“Oh, Mr. Grayland,” she said in a low tone, 
and glancing around as though in fear of being 
overheard by other ears than his, “I am so wor- 
ried about Jessamine. I am nearly frantic, and I 
don’t know what to do. I am a guest in this 
house, and that makes my position all the more 
embarrassing. I wish I dare tell you all. I think 
you might know what to do, and yet — I don’t 
wish to say anything to you that will cause you 
to think ill of anyone. Oh, I don’t know what to 
do.” Tears stood in her eyes. 

He looked the surprise he felt, then quickly 
smothering it he said quietly: “Tell me anything. 
You need have no fear. I am not easily prejudiced 
and I will try and help you. You may trust me. I 
will never disclose anything which you may see 
fit to confide in me.” 

“Then I will tell 3 7 ou,” she said impulsively, “for 
I do trust you, and I know you can help me. I 
am so anxious for Jessamine’s safety. I fear she 
has gone into danger tonight, through some mis- 
taken sense of duty or some mission of charity^.” 
She then related to him all she had witnessed in 
regard to the hanging of the transparency in the 
window; of the mysterious man who came as if 
in answer to it, and at last she told him the name 


EYA. 


261 


of the street which she had heard Jessamine men- 
tion, and asked him innocently if that was a good, 
respectable locality that would be safe for Jessa- 
mine to venture into in the evening. 

He turned white to the lips when she mentioned 
the name of the street and she noted his agitation, 
but he — thinking that if Cecil did not know the 
character of that locality he should not enlighten 
her— made her an evasive reply and said that he 
would go down in that neighborhood and see if 
he could be of any assistance to her if she was on 
charitable work intent. He took a hasty leave of 
Cecil and left the Erl win mansion. 

A thousand fears and emotions possessed him. 
What could bring a girl like Jessamine into such a 
locality? He tried to think that Cecil had mis- 
understood the name of the street. He called a cab 
and drove directly to the street in question and 
telling the man to wait for him, even if it should 
be half the night, he went down into the center of 
the ill-favored thoroughfare. 

When Jessamine and her companion halted before 
the door of Fanchette’s lodgings, the man advanced 
and rang the bell, while Jessamine waited 
anxiously, her heart beating wildly. A young wo- 
man answered the ring, and the man asked if 
Fanny Dumond lived in that house. The gij*l re- 
plied in the affirmative. 

“May we see her for a few moments?” he asked. 
“The lady who is with me would like to speak to 
her.” 

“If it is one of those precious ladies who were here 


262 


EYA. 


today, tell her I have no time for her, Nell,” they 
heard a voice say from within, and the girl was 
about to shut the door in their faces, when Jessa- 
mine stepped forward with a little appealing gesture. 

“Oh, no, no,” she said, earnestly. “I want to 
see Miss Dumond, on very important business. 
Please tell her I want to see her about a little girl 
who lives with her — a girl named Evangeline.” 

Low as her voice had been, Fanchette heard her 
and with a cry and a bound she was at the door. 

“Eva!” she gasped, “have you come with word 
from Eva? Come in, come in quickly.” She almost 
dragged Jessamine and her companion into the 
house, and closed the door. Showing them into a 
bright, pleasant room, she placed chairs for them, 
and with glowing eyes and flushed face, stood 
waiting impatiently for them to speak. 

“Do you know where my Eva is?” she said at 
length, in a trembling voice. Jessamine’s heart 
sank heavily. 

“We came to you to find Evangeline,” she said. 
“We want to know as much about her as you 
can tell us. I have come here tonight to find her, 
and establish her identity beyond a doubt. I have 
been told that you have had the care of her ever 
since her infancy, and that you can give all the in- 
formation that is required, to satisfy her people— 
her Relatives.” 

“Then you don’t know where she is at present?” 
said Fanchette, in a disappointed tone, “or is it 
that you know and won’t tell me?” suspiciously. 

“We do not know. I wish we did,” sighed Jessa- 
mine. “I supposed she was here with you.” 


EVA. 


263 


Fanchette looked a little pacified. “Then what 
can I do to help you?” she said, slowly. “I don’t 
know where she is.” 

“You can tell us all you know of her. You can 
supply the missing links in the chain of her life, 
from the time she was stolen, until now,” replied 
Jessamine. 

“Stolen!” cried Fanchette, “I never knew she was 
stolen. Did you think I stole her?” 

“No, no,” said Jessamine, “we know that you did 
not. I will tell you the part you do not know, 
which embraces the time in her life, before she 
came to you as she did. Then you may tell me 
the rest if you will.” 

She proceeded to tell Fanchette of the Gypsy 
girl’s crime, and of her shifting the child upon Nat 
Harnley, in order to rid herself of it, without fur- 
ther bloodshed. Of his plight, when he found out 
what she had done, and how he dared not return 
and confess his part in it, for fear of the conse- 
quences. But there was one fact which Jessamine 
was very careful not to disclose, and that was the 
name and great wealth and standing of Eva’s 
family, for she knew that women of Fanchette’s 
class were very greedy for wealth and luxury, and 
she did not wish her to know— at least, now— 
what great wealth would be Eva’s, if she could be 
found. 

As Fanchette listened, with wide open eyes, to 
the recital of the events referred to, she was be- 
coming swiftly disarmed toward Jessamine. Some- 
thing in the girl’s quiet and unaffected manner and 


264 


EYA. 


gentle way, was overcoming her natural resent- 
ment towards her for the difference in their social 
relations. She could see at a glance that Jessa- 
mine was a lady, born and bred, but there was no 
air of affected superiority; no condescension shown 
in her manner toward Fanchette. There was no 
shrinking from her, as though she was afraid of 
contamination, and by the time Jessamine had 
finished her story, Fanchette felt a great wave of 
good-will toward her, taking the place of all sus- 
picion. She liked her, and concluded to tell her all 
she knew in regard to Eva. 

The man who had accompanied Jessamine, said 
he would go into the hall, if there was anything 
which they did not wish him to hear, and Fan- 
chette replied that she would a little rather say 
some things to the lady, alone, so he took up his 
position just outside the door of the room to wait 
until the interview was over. 

After he had closed the door, Fanchette began 
her story. She told all that we already know, of 
how Eva had been placed in her care. “I 
loved her too well to part with her after she had 
been with me a short time, and 1 tried at first to 
work and earn enough for us both. I could not 
get much to do, burdened as I was with that 
baby, and at last there came a time when there 
was no money, and nothing to eat in the house.” 

“I was feeling desperate, and at that very time 
a man came to see me, whom I had known for 
years. He proposed that I live with him, and let 
him provide for us. ‘I don’t want to marry you, 


EVA. 


265 


Fan/ he said, ‘for I am not a marrying man, and 
I think you have had a rather hard time of it, so 
far as married life goes. You are not anxious to 
try it again, are you?’ I said that I was not. 
“Then live with me, and I will see that you and 
the kid don’t go hungrj-.’ I suppose you will be 
shocked, when I tell you I consented. We had to 
move out of the house we were then in, because 
the owner found out, in some way, that we were 
not married, and informed us that only respect- 
able tenants need expect to occupy that place. 
We moved into this street, and here there are no 
questions asked. 

“After a time this man was obliged to leave town 
in a hurry, and after that I had other lovers, for 
I could get no work after living as I had done. 
No one would give employment to a woman who 
had lived in this street, if they knew it. But 
through it all I have guarded Eva from a knowl- 
edge of anything vile, until a few weeks ago a man 
appeared who had money enough to do the hand- 
some thing by her for a time at least, and he was 
crazy after her, but she did not fancy him, and she 
ran away and left us, saying in a note she left for 
me that she should return to me sometime when 
she was sure he had gone. 

“When you came tonight I thought it was with 
news from her. I love Eva. She is my one idol, 
and if she would only come back, she might do 
just as she pleased in everything. I suppose you 
think that such women as I am can not love; that 
we are all bad and vile, but you are not to be 


266 


EYA. 


blamed if you do, for you are taught it from the 
cradle by your pious Christian mothers. But we 
are human in spite of all that prejudice and spite 
can say against us,” concluded Fanchette with a 
little defiant toss of the head. 

“My mother never taught me any such thing,” re- 
plied Jessamine gently. “Mamma always said we 
would find human nature much the same in all 
classes. A mixture of good and evil. She always 
told me not to condemn anyone, for we do not 
know what their temptation might have been; 
what circumstances conspired to drive them into 
certain conditions, but most important of all, that 
we do not know how it looked to them. I have 
been about a good deal and I find warm hearts 
among those who are called social outcasts, and 
I know that women who have been unfortunate 
are more inclined to charit}^ toward members of 
their own sex than the more fortunate ones. 

“I know that some women who have lost their 
virtue, are warmer hearted and have quicker sym- 
pathies and kindlier impulses than some of their 
immaculate sisters who hold their skirts aside and 
turn away their faces. And there is another thing 
to take into consideration,” continued Jessamine, 
turning and laying her hand on the arm of Fan- 
chette’s chair. “There is not one doubt in my 
mind that some women, who pose as perfectly 
virtuous in high society, are guilty of intrigues 
with their lovers just as much as the social out- 
cast, only they are so sly and careful that they do 
not often get found out. Why, then, should we 


EYA. 


267 


judge one class so heavily when we do not, can 
not know what we are entertaning right in our 
own set; in our own homes? I am very much re- 
lieved to find that you have reared Evangeline in 
innocence of all vice. You deserve great credit for 
protecting her childhood from all harm. And now 
I must go for it is getting late. If you hear any- 
thing of Evangeline’s whereabouts, please let me 
know at this address.” She gave her the address 
of the man who was waiting for her just outside 
in the hall. 

“I surely will, Miss,” replied Fanchette. “Just 
wait a moment and I will show you the little 
things that Eva wore when she came to me.” 

She brought out a box and, opening it, took out 
a dainty little white dress, trimmed with fine lace, 
a little ring and pin also, and handed them to Jes- 
samine for inspection. 

“I was strongly tempted to pawn or sell the ring 
and pin more than once,” she said, “but I could 
not bear to on her account. I thought they might 
be needed some day to help prove who she was, 
and now you see the time has come.” 

Jessamine examined them closely and became con- 
vinced that the pearls and diamonds, although 
very small, were real. She handed them back to 
Fanchette who looked relieved for she feared that 
Jessamine was going to ask to keep them. 

“You will guard them as careful^ as you have 
here-to-fore won’t you?” she said. “When Evange- 
line is found they will be wanted as proof. I 
thank you very much, Miss Dumond, for giving me 


268 


EVA. 


all this information and you will surely hear from 
me again. Vy’ould you like to leave the kind of life 
you are living and be free?” 

“Oh, so much!” cried Fanchette. “You don’t 
know how hateful and loathsome it is, and how 
tired I am of it all. How I wish I could go out 
in the quiet country and be as free as the birds.” 

“Then you shall have a chance to give up this 
life and lead a bet — happier one,” said Jessamine. 
“I promise it. And now good night but not 
good bye.” She turned to Fanchette with a charm- 
ing smile and bow and moved toward the door. 

Fanchette followed her, a wistful look in her 
eyes. “You wouldn’t like to shake hands with 
me, would you?” She half whispered. 

Jessamine turned promptly and placed her hand 
in Fanchette’s with a warmth of feeling that 
brought tears to the unfortunate woman’s eyes. 

“Bless 3 t ou for that,” said Fanchette. “Good 
night.” 

Ernest walked along, looking at the houses as 
he passed, but when he had reached the end of the 
street he had seen no sign of the object of his 
search. He paused and looked about. A cab was 
standing as though waiting for some one. He be- 
gan to retrace his steps, calling himself a fool for 
his pains, when the door of one of the houses 
opened and two figures came out, a man and a 
girl very plainly dressed. His heart gave a great 
bound and then seemed to stop. He stepped into 
the shadow of a doorway where, concealed from 
their view, he watched them approach. They pass- 


EVA. 


269 


ed quite close to him, and he had to admit that 
there was something very familiar about the girl’s 
figure. He followed at a distance and saw them 
enter the waiting cab, then hastening to his own, 
he jumped in and ordered the man to catch up 
with and keep the other one in sight. 

They drove swiftly on for some time. An age it 
seemed to him, but at last his own cab stopped 
and he saw that the other had drawn up to the 
curb a little further on. Hoping against hope, he 
sprang out, paid and dismissed his man and walk- 
ing leisurely along, kept the two figures — which 
had alighted from their cab — in sight. He followed 
them for some distance, then they paused, the man 
lifted his cap to the girl and walked swiftly away, 
while she turned and ran up the steps to the Erl- 
win mansion, removing her veil as she did so, and 
when the light in the entrance fell full upon her he 
recognized without a possiblitv of error, Jessamine 
Erl win. He had been hoping that it would prove 
to be someone else after all, but there was no mis- 
take, he had seen her quite plainly. 

With a multitude of conflicting emotions he 
turned about and went home. Sleep was out of 
the question. He was conscious of a heavy, des- 
pondent heartache, which kept him awake. He 
arose at last and called himself to an account for it. 
No woman he had ever known had ever done any- 
thing he could remember that had caused him such 
unhappiness. “Why should I care so much?” he 
asked himself, but at first he could give no satis- 
factory answer. He tried to forget it; tried to 


270 


EVA. 


look upon it as only an incident which was of no- 
consequence to him, but the more he tried to over- 
come his unhappiness the more it mastered him. 
The more he tried to assure himself that Jessamine 
Edwin’s doings were of no consequence to him,, 
the more convinced he became that they were. A 
vision of a white-robed, rose-crowned figure de- 
scending a staircase, illumined by a red glow, rose 
before him, and he lived over again, in fancy, the 
night he spent in the haunted house. One by one 
he reviewed the interviews he had since had with 
Jessamine, and the beautiful high-bred face with 
its smiling brown eyes floated before him and he 
found himself powerless to shut out the vision. 

“Is it possible I have fallen in love with the girl?” 
he asked himself, and as a test he tried to imagine 
how life and the world would seem, and the future 
look to him if he should hear that she was dead 
and he could never see her face or hear her voice 
again, and such a wave of loneliness swept over 
him as he had never felt before. 

“There is but one way,” he said at last. “I can 
never be happy without her, that is sure, and it is 
very doubtful if I can be happy with her if her feet 
have already begun to tread the downward road. 
I wonder if a whole-hearted affection would not 
turn her into the right path? Could I ever trust 
her? Perhaps she does not care for me. Oh, Jes- 
samine, if you were only mine, I believe I could 
make you love me and be true.” 

He reasoned that as she was young, and the 
young are easily influenced for good or evil, the 


EYA. 


271 


chances were that a marriage of love would save 
her from further wrong, if anything would, but 
could he overlook the discovery he had made 
that night? Could he bury it so deep that it would 
never rise in the future to make him wretched? He 
fought a great battle that night, a battle between 
self-appreciation and unselfish love, for Ernest 
Grayland had lived a moral life, and his grand 
nature abhored vice in any form, but love won the 
victory, and he felt much happier when the decis- 
ion was reached, and that was that he would ask 
Jessamine Erlwin to be his wife, and try, by an un- 
selfish devotion to win her back to a virtuous life. 

He went to the Erlwin mansion the next day, 
and was shown into the drawing-room. Jessamine 
was alone, Cecil having gone on a shopping expe- 
dition with Jessamine’s aunt. As he entered she 
arose to meet him with a glad cry. He noticed 
that she looked wonderfully happy, her sweet face 
was radiant, and she gave him her hand and was 
about to speak, when he, not wishing to delay a 
moment the all-important question now that they 
were alone, said quietly: 

“Jessamine, will you marry me? I love you with 
all my heart. Will you be my wife?” 

To say that the girl was astonished, would not 
express it. Unbounded amazement was written up- 
on her countenance. She looked up at him and 
caught her breath sharply. 

“Why, Mr. Grayland,” she said, “are you in earn- 
est?” 

“Most certainly I am,” he said smiling. “Ernest 


272 


EVA. 


by name, and earnest by nature. Did you think I 
would use such a subject for a jest? I want you 
for my own. I think I have loved you ever since 
that night in the haunted house. May I hope to 
win your affection in return?” 

She flushed rosy red, and dropped her lashes 
over her brown eyes. “I think it must be fate,” 
she said with a little laugh, “for I have been 
growing to care for you ever since the night I met 
you in the dear old haunted house. Perhaps Cupid 
is one of the spirits who haunted the place.” 

For the next few minutes it seemed to them that 
life had suddenly taken on a new and heavenly 
beauty. He took her in his arms and kissed her 
rapturously. All his misery of the past night was 
for the moment forgotten. After the first trans- 
ports of joy were over, Jessamine said: 

“I have such grand news for you, dearest. You 
will be so pleased. I have found Fanny Dumond!” 

“Is it possible!” he exclaimed. “How and 
where?” 

“Oh, some ladies who were in here yesterday were 
discussing some of the places in the city which they 
thought were in need of a little missionary work, 
and they mentioned that in street lived a wo- 

man by the name of Fanny Dumond. I nearly 
jumped out of my chair when they spoke that 
name. I just pricked up my ears but said noth- 
ing to them. When they were gone I put a signal 
in the window of the drawing-room to call up a 
little Salvation Army man who goes with me when- 
ever I want to go into the poverty-stricken dis- 


EYA. 


273 


trict, and when he came, I told him I was not 
going to visit the poor this time, but that I wanted 

to find a certain woman, who lived in street. 

He asked me if I knew what kind of a name that 
locality had, and I told him I did, but that this 
was a very important matter, and must be at- 
tended to, and that no one must know of it. So 
he went with me. I am not afraid to go almost 
anywhere with him, and we found the woman, 
and she had your little cousin, Evangeline, in her 
care, until a few weeks ago, and now the girl has 
run away from her, and she does not know where 
she is.” 

Such a wave of relief and joy swept over Ernest 
when Jessamine disclosed the reason for her con- 
duct of the previous night that it made him feel 
dizzy for a moment. But this was followed by a 
sensation of horror at the thought of his little 
cousin having lived amid such surroundings. 

“In such a place as that!” he groaned, “and 
reared among such companions. I was afraid she 
might not fall into very good hands; but I did not 
think it would be so bad as this. It would have 
been better for her if the Gypsy had killed her in 
her innocent infancy.” 

“Oh, no, no,” cried Jessamine. “You do not un- 
derstand how it is. This woman declared to me 
that she had always shielded the child from all 
evil. She did not profess to be respectable herself, 
but she claimed that Eva, as she called her, was 
perfectly innocent. She stated that the child had 
lived with her until a few weeks ago; that she 


274 


EYA. 


took a violent dislike to a friend of hers who came 
often to the house, and that she left home, and 
that she did not know where she had gone. She 
found a note pinned on the door, saying she had 
left for a time, but that some time she intended to 
come back to her ‘dear Fanchette. , She showed 
me the little dress, all trimmed with lace, which 
the baby wore when she was brought to her, and 
the little pin, set with pearls, and marked with 
the name ‘Evangeline;’ also a little ring which was 
on the baby’s finger. She says she paid a professor 
to instruct the child in all the branches of a good 
school education. Oh, how I wanted to see you 
yesterday before I ventured to start for this wo- 
man’s house, but you remember you told us you 
did not expect to be back for five weeks and I did 
not dare wait for you. So much can happen in 
five weeks, you know.” 

“A great deal can happen in a few hours,” he 
said, drawing her to him and kissing the sweet 
face with an added tenderness. ‘‘I think I am the 
happiest man in this old world now.” 

“I knew this discovery would make you happy, 
said Jessamine. ‘‘I could hardly wait until I could 
get a chance to tell you.” 

“There are other things that make me happier 
than that,” he replied, “and I think you are a 
very brave little girl.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “the little Salva- 
tion Army man is a good protector if one wants 
to visit any place among the lower classes of the 
city. He goes into some awful places and some of 


EVA. 


275 


those people seem to have a real affection for him. 
You see if they are in trouble or want he helps 
them instead of preaching to them. He sympathizes 
with them and that is everything. You don’t 
know how far a little sympathy goes with that 
class of people. He never preaches; he practices.” 

“If you go on praising this Salvation Army 
officer I shall get jealous presently,” said Ernest, 
with a happy laugh. 

“I’ll hang the signal in the window some night 
when you are here, and when he comes I’ll intro- 
duce you to him. You will like him, I know. He 
is a fine little fellow.” 

“Why don’t you go slumming with women of 
your own class? I thought that going slumming 
was quite a fad now. That it was just the thing 
to do.” 

“Oh, I never go slumming for a fad. I wouldn’t 
go down into the poverty stricken district and 
pry about and ask impertinent questions, and in- 
trude where I wasn’t wanted, as some of these 
fashionable women do, for anything. That would 
be no pleasure to me.” 

“How did you come to get acquainted with this 
man?” 

“One day when I was out for a drive our car- 
riage nearly killed a young girl who threw herself 
under the horses with the intention of committing 
suicide. I was frightened nearly to death. I was 
alone except for the coachman. A crowd gathered 
and the girl was taken to a hospital. This Sal- 
vation Army man was among those who seemed 


276 


EVA. 


most helpful. I went to the hospital and saw 
that all was done for the girl that was possible, 
and I asked this man to notify me in case 
she died, and to come to the house and report 
how she was getting along. He did so. The girl 
got better and I felt interested in the poor thing. 
It seemed she had been deserted by her lover and 
that was why she wanted to die, and after she 
was well enough to leave the hospital I went to 
see her and get her established in some comfortable 
rooms and the galvation Army man helped me. 

“Aunt Anna objected to the man’s coming here, 
and finally absolutely refused to allow me to go 
out with him. She said he did not belong to our 
class and I must stop it. So I told him that when 
she and papa were not in, and I had time to go 
out, I would hang a transparent picture in the 
front window of the drawing-room, and when he 
saw that he would come and I would be watching 
for him and admit him myself. We have done that 
way for some time and Aunt Anna knows nothing 
about it. She would be very angry if she should 
find it out, so you will not betray my little secret, 
will you?” 

“No, indeed; and I shall have to make, the ac- 
quaintance of your Salvation man. Does he spend 
all his time as a good Samaritan?” 

“He makes it his everyday work. He lives on 
the plainest food and gives away everything he 
can get to those who are needy and in distress. 
He merely allows himself the necessaries of life and 
sometimes hardly that in order to assist others. 


EYA. 


277 


He never reproaches them, never preaches to them; 
he justs helps them. Some of those poor people 
almost worship him.” 

“I see he has your championship,” smiling, “and 
when he can have the sweetest little champion in 
the city, he is greatly to be envied. I shall have 
to speak to him about it. And now I am going 
to ‘ask papa’ for you at the first opportunity. I 
hope he will be in a gracious humor.” 

“I think you have nothing to fear. He is a 
great stickler on the subject of ‘family,’ and yours 
is certainly above reproach.” 

After more conversation which is interesting only 
to lovers, Ernest took his departure. As he laid 
his head on his pillow that night, feeling that he 
was the happiest man in the world, like a flash 
the old Gypsy woman's prophecy came back to 
him, as she had spoken it while she held his hand 
and looked into his palm that day at the Gypsy 
camp. “You will fall in love and the girl will be 
worthy of you, but you will be misled in your 
estimation of her, by a false friend. A female who 
will want you for herself, will misrepresent to you 
the character of the girl you love, and you will be 
extremely unhapp}-; but it will all come right 
through your own goodness of heart; where a 
more narrow and selfish man would fail, through 
your own nobility you will be brought to happi- 
ness.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


It was all settled. Jessamine’s finger bore a 
beautiful diamond as a badge of her betrothal. 
Mr. Erlwin had pronounced himself well pleased 
that his daughter had chosen so wisely. He told 
Ernest that there had never been a family among 
all his extensive acquaintance that he could be 
more pleased for his daughter to marry into. “Of 
course, it was to be expected that a girl brought 
up as she has been, should choose a husband who 
came of a good family,” he said. “My daughter 
would not make such a mistake as a mis-alliance.” 

Aunt Anna had pronounced herself well satisfied, 
and the path was smooth for the lovers’ feet. Ce- 
cil was frightened at what she had done, but she 
felt somewhat relieved when Ernest assured her 
that he had never told Jessamine of what she had 
said to him, in regard to her mysterious errands. 

“I was only anxious for the dear girl’s safety,” 
she said, “and I would not like her to think I was 
prying or meddling with her affairs; but you must 
know that when I heard her mention that street I 
was naturally alarmed for her own good.” 

“I have never told her anything about it,” he 
replied a little coldly, “and I never shall; but I 


EYA. 


279 


have proved to my entire satisfaction that her 
errand was one of mercy and goodness.” 

The only point upon which Mr. Erlwin was firm 
was that the marriage should not take place un- 
til Jessamine was twenty-one. “I do not believe 
in young people marrying under that age,” he said. 
“If you both love each other truly you will be 
faithful and wait. If your love should prove to 
be only a fancy, then it would have time to burn 
itself out,” and they had to submit. 

The next day after Jessamine’s disclosures, Ernest 
paid a visit to Fanchette. She told him all she 
knew of Eva, and tears gathered in her eyes several 
times while she called up the past, and spoke of 
the days of Eva’s infancy. 

“I swear to you, sir,” she said, earnestly, “the 
dear child is innocent as an angel. I never allowed 
her to hear anything low or vile, and we lived 
alone together. Since she went away I have taken 
in some of my neighbors, so now there are other 
women in my house besides myself; but they were 
never here till after she left. I could not bear that 
her ears should hear their vile language, or her 
beautiful eyes look upon some of the sights she 
would have seen had they been here with her. I 
brought her up to think as I do, that marriage is 
about the worst condition in life, but I thought 
when she reached womanhood she might choose a 
lover and live with him until she tired of him, and 
if there was no marriage bond to fetter her she 
could leave him whenever she liked if he failed to 
please her. 


280 


EYA. 


“A few weeks ago a suitor appeared, and tried 
his best to win her, but she took a violent dislike 
to him, and because I would not forbid him the 
house, she left me, saying in a note which she left 
that she loved me and should return to me some- 
time when she was sure he was gone. I suspected 
that a young lad named Dick Delmorn who lived 
in rooms near ours knew where she had gone, for 
they were very great friends, but I have never been 
able to find out anything from him. He never has 
given me a hint of her whereabouts, and now he 
is gone too, and I suspect he has gone to her, for 
her kitten has mysteriously disappeared, and I 
have cared for it tenderly ever since she went away. 
It seemed all that was left to me of her, for she 
loved it and used to go to sleep every night with 
it clasped in her arms.” 

Fanchette stopped and wiped the tears from her 
eyes. 

“Why,” asked Ernest gently, “did you not get 
some honest employment, and give up this kind of 
life, for her sake as well as your own?” 

“I couldn’t earn enough to support us in as 
comfortable a style of living, at any work which 
I could get. I found that this way of living was 
easiest, and provided us with more comforts than 
we could get in any other way. I never chose this 
way for any other reason. The men who have 
supported me in this way have treated me far 
better, and with more consideration and kindness 
than my husbands ever did, for I was married 
three times before I took Eva to care for, and 


EYA. 


281 


mv experiences in the matrimonial line were one 
round of slavery, drudgery and abuse; so this life 
is an improvement on the other, though I hate the 
degradation of it. I get weary of life; but it is the 
only door that is open to me now, and I hope 
that life will not be long.” 

Ernest did not think it wise to mention the 
name of the family to which Eva belonged. He 
thought it would be soon enough for Fanchette to 
know, if Eva was found, and if she should never 
be found, then the woman should be none the 
wiser as to her parentage. He thanked her for 
the information she had given him, and laying a 
twenty dollar bill upon the stand, took his de- 
parture, with her thanks ringing in his ears. 

“If it is as she has said, that she brought the 
child up in innocence and purity, she shall be re- 
warded so handsomely that she will be able to 
leave this life of shame and degradation, which she 
claims to be so weary of, and live in comfort and 
peace for the rest of her life,” he said to himself, 
“but the next step is to find Evangeline, and re- 
store her to her rightful place in the world.” 

The night after this, when he was calling on his 
betrothed, she said: “I am going to hang the sig- 
nal in the window, for auntie and papa and Cecil 
are out, and now will be a good time to introduce 
you to the Salvation Army man.” 

She took from the table drawer the transparency 
and hung it in the window. A few minutes passed, 
then there came a ring at the bell, and going to 
the door and dismissing the servant, she ushered 


*282 


EYA. 


in a little, pleasant looking man, with mild blue 
*eyes and a gentle manner. She presented him to 
Ernest, who greeted him warmly, saying that Miss 
Erlwin had said so much about his good works, 
that he had expressed a desire to meet him. 

The little man shook his head. “Miss Erlwin 
speaks too highly of my poor efforts,” he said. 
'“She is the good angel among the sorrowing and 
destitute. Her’s is the hand that has dealt out 
help of the most substantial kind to the poor and 
suffering ones. I have had the happiness of escort- 
ing her on her missions of mercy. I have the de- 
sire but not the means to relieve the hungry ones 
in our city. Miss Erlwin has denied herself many 
things which are usually prized by young ladies in 
order to spend the greater part of the allowance 
she receives from her father on the sick and desti- 
tute. If every wealthy one in this great city would 
give as much, and give it as wisely, there would 
not be many left in want.” 

“Oh!” cried Jessamine, “I have never given very 
much; not a hundredth part of what I would like 
to. But you should hear the people whom we have 
visited, bless this missionarjq and see them almost 
bow down and worship him.” 

Ernest laughed. “I think you must be quite a 
pair when you go out together. I would like to 
put in a plea to accompany you on some of your 
-expeditions. May I?” 

“Certainly,” they both answered in a breath. 
“We would be glad to have you, and,” added Jes- 
samine smiling, “don’t forget, please, to take along 
your pocketbook.” 


EYA. 


283 


The next day Cecil announced that she must re- 
turn home. She would have liked to remain in 
this luxurious place forever, but she feared to over- 
step the bounds and wear out her welcome by pro- 
longing her visit. She insisted that Jessamine 
should accompany her home, and that young lady 
consented, to her great relief, for she wished above 
all things to keep her hold on her, as a stepping- 
stone to a higher life. She had vowed to herself 
that she would try by every means at her com- 
mand, to win a wealthy man for a husband, and 
she thought if she could visit at the Erlwin man- 
sion every little while, she would have opportun- 
ities which she could not get elsewhere. 

Jessamine was entirely unconscious of all this, 
and took it for granted that Cecil liked her for 
herself alone, and so it was decided that she should 
go home with Cecil. 

Mrs. Bruler had gone to see her invalid aunt and 
Eva had been an inmate of Ely Nayburn’s house- 
hold for a week, when one afternoon while Cindy 
was out, there came a rap at the kitchen door, 
and upon opening it, Eva was rendered almost 
speechless with joy at the sight of Dick standing 
there with a covered basket on his arm. 

“Dick!” she cried, as soon as she could get her 
breath. “Oh, Dick, Dick, is it really you? Oh, I 
am so glad to see you. When did you come, and 
how?” and seizing him with both hands, she drew 
him into the house. 

A faint mew came from inside the basket. “What 
is that?” cried Eva. Dick calmly lifted the cover 


284 


EYA. 


and showed her her own kitten, curled up within. 
Eva was so excited she could hardly get the little 
creature out. 

“How it has grown. Oh, Dick, I am so glad, so 
glad to see you.” She took the kitten in her arms 
and began to cr} r . 

“Well, well,” said Dick, “that’s a great way to 
be glad; to begin to cry. I say if you don’t stop 
it I shall think you are sorry we came.” But the 
expression on his face belied his words. “Are you 
living here? I thought I sent you to Joneses.” 

Eva told him all. When she related her experi- 
ence with Eddie, Dick could keep silent no longer. 

“I’m glad you licked him, Eva. If I’d been there 
I’d have given him worse than you did. He was 
a little kid when I was there; about six years old 
then, I should think. I saw him today when I 
went there to inquire for you, but he did not re- 
member me and I didn’t tell him who I am. He 
was out in the yard, and he said his mother was 
not at home. I asked about you and he said his 
mother had sent you away, and you were living 
with the Nayburns just now. So I came right here. 

I’ve been three days on the road, for I walked 
from the city, and I slept in the fields. I got to 
the village last night but it was so late in the 
evening that I thought everybody was in bed, so 
I found a good place in a little house in the edge 
of the woods — an old sugar shanty, and kitty and 
I staid there last night and made ourselves very 
comfortable, and as long as things are just as they 
are, I guess we had better go back there for to- 


EYA. 


285 


night anyway. I don’t know anybody but the 
Joneses and I won’t go near them now, so I think 
the shanty will be all right till I can get a place 
to work for some of the folks in the village. Don’t 
you?” 

“Oh, but Dick, I’m afraid the shanty is not com- 
fortable. I’ve still got some of that money you 
gave me. You had better take that and get a 
place to board. There is almost three dollars of 
it, and you can board almost anywhere in this 
little place for two dollars and a half a week.” 

“No, I won’t take it. We may need it worse for 
something else, and I’ve got a little money with 
me; enough to buy me something to eat. I would 
rather go back to the shanty for a few days. You 
can come out there to see me, can’t you? It is not 
more than half a mile from here on a straight road.” 

He drew her to the door and pointed out the 
way. “Do you see those woods over there? That’s 
the place, just in the edge of those woods, a little 
way beyond the old haunted house. You have been 
there, I suppose, by this time?” 

“No,” she said, “not yet; but I am going to see 
it.” 

“When can you come out to the shanty?” 

“I’ll try to come tomorrow afternoon,” she said. 
“But tell me about Fanchette; is she well and 
does she miss me?” 

“She is well, but she cried a good deal at first. 
I pinned your note on her door and she came and 
asked me lots of questions. I think she suspected 
that I knew where you had gone, but 1 never let 


286 


EYA. 


on. After you had been gone three weeks she and 
some other women went into some kind of part- 
nership, I guess, for they all live there together 
now, four of them. I had quite a time to get your 
kitten when I got ready to come, for Fanchette 
kept him very close and petted him, and I have 
seen her cry over him when she did not know I 
was looking. Poor old Tipsy died and then I 
made preparations to come. I saved enough 
money out of selling my papers so I did not take 
one cent from the old gent. I guess that Will 
Evers and Fanchette had a quarrel about you for 
I never saw him go there more than once after 
you left. I guess I had better go back now to the 
shanty. May I keep the kitten for a day or two 
just for something to talk to?” 

“Of course you may, you dear old boy. How 
good you are. I’ll come tomorrow if I possibly 
can. Hadn’t I better tell Mr. and Mrs. Nayburn 
about you?” 

“Not yet,” he said. “I don’t want anybody to 
know that I am living in the sugar shanty. I 
want to get a place to work before you tell them. 
Be sure and come tomorrow.” 

“But let me get you something to eat. Aren’t 
you hungry?” 

“No,” he replied, “I have enough to last me two 
days yet, and if you will bring something tomor- 
row for the kitten that is enough. I have had 
something to feed him on today. I’ll go now. 
Good bye.” 


EVA. 


287 ' 


“Good bye until tomorrow, Dick. I’ll see you 
then.” 

He had just vanished from sight down the dusty 
road when Cindy returned. 

“I’m tired to death,” she said sinking into a 
chair. “I’m just sick. I went in to see Mrs. 
Smith and she’s just gitten over the appen-di- 
ceetus, and she told me all about it and I do be- 
lieve I’m goin’ to have it, fer I feel just as she said 
she did.” 

“I hope you are not going to be ill,” said Eva. 

“I’m afraid I’m goin’ to have it,” said Cindy. 

Ely came in at this moment and just in time to 
catch the last words. “Have what?” he asked. 

“The appen-di-ceetus,” said Cindy. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” he replied. Then seeing 
Eva’s look of surprise and alarm he continued,, 
“but I wouldn’t worry about it. Cindy has had 
every disease that human flesh is heir to — except- 
ing two or three, and she’s alive yet and able to 
eat her three meals a day, so there is no cause 
for immediate alarm.” 

“I guess I don’t eat any more’n you do, Ely 
Nay burn,” she said wrathfully. 

“I did not say you did,” he replied, “but you 
are remarkably hearty for anyone that has every 
new complaint that comes along. But if you are 
determined to have appendicitis you had better 
put it off for a week or so for I got a letter from 
Jessamine today and she is coming home with 
Cecil and writes that she will be here tomorrow.- 
night.” 


288 


EYA. 


Cindy rose with alacrity. “Wal, then,” she said, 
“her room must be put in order, and I must see to 
gittin’ somethin’ good baked up. Evy, can you 
see to puttin’ Miss Erlwin’s room in order?” 
Cindy always called Eva, “Evy.” 

Eva went about the appointed task and Cindy 
pronounced herself well satisfied when it was com- 
pleted. 

“Now shall I put some flowers in a vase and set 
it on the dressing table?” asked the young girl. 

“What! pick the flowers off from the flower-bed 
an put ’em in the bedroom?” cried Cindy in horri- 
fied accents. “Wal, I guess not. I ain’t goin’ to 
have my flowers picked. I guess she can go out 
into the yard and look at ’em where they’re 
growin’ if she wants to see ’em.” 

Eva went about all the work which Cindy di- 
rected her to do, with a light and happy heart. 
The thought that Dick was so near was a source 
of great joy to her. Cindy wondered at the light 
which shone in the girl’s eyes, and the smiles 
which came so readily to her sweet face. Tomor- 
row she would see Dick again. She would go to 
the village store and buy some articles of food 
which she knew he liked and put them in a basket 
and go out to the shanty and stay as long as 
Cindy could spare her. She would not say any- 
thing about it, for he had requested her not to, 
but she would ask Cindy if she might go out for 
a walk and how long she might be gone and 
when she returned she would tell her that she 
walked out to the woods. She could hardly wait 


EYA. 


289 


for the morrow so impatient was she to see 
“dear old Dick” again. 

The next morning was a busy one, but at last 
all was in readiness for the expected guest, and 
after the noonday meal was over, and the dishes 
done, Eva asked Cindy if she might go out for a 
little walk. Cindy gave her consent, provided that 
she would promise to be back by half-past four. 

So Eva started to make her anticipated visit. 
She went to the store and bought some things 
which she thought Dick would relish, and then 
taking the direction he had given her she walked 
along the road toward the woods. 

If she had not been so preoccupied with the 
thoughts of Dick, she would have noticed the 
haunted house, for her way led directly past it, 
but she was so wrapped in her own thoughts, and 
as she neared the end of her journe\ r , was watch- 
ing so intently for a sight of Dick, that she passed 
by the entrance to the grounds without seeing it. 
Her eyes were fixed on the entrance to the woods, 
and soon she descried the outlines of the sugar shanty, 
and a few moments later, Dick, himself, appeared, 
and waved a joyous welcome to her. She found 
him very comfortable, considering his surroundings. 
The shanty made a shelter from wind and rain, 
and there was a place where he could make a fire 
if he so desired. The kitten, too, was making it- 
self at home, and for the two hours that Eva staid 
in the place she enjoyed every moment. 

“I wish I could stay here with you,” she said. 

“I wish you could,” replied Dick, “it is almost 
like camping.” 


290 


EYA. 


“Does anyone know you are here?” she asked. 

“No, I have seen no one about here. I am going 
to see if I can get something to do on a farm. 
There is most always a chance to get something, 
to do in the country, even if a boy don’t earn 
more than his board and clothes, and I’d like to 
live in the country for a while just for a change. 
I’ll let you know when I get a place, and you will 
come out here again in a day or two, won’t you?” 

“Indeed I will,” she replied. “Oh, I am so glad 
you are here.” 

Fearing she would overstay her allotted time she 
bid Dick good bye, and started for home. The day 
which had been bright and warm, was becoming 
cloudy, and the wind was rising. It began to sigh 
through the trees before she left the shanty, and 
before she reached home it was blowing a gale. 
Great black clouds were rolling swiftly across the 
heavens, and dust was flying in clouds along the 
road as she turned into the yard, thankful to reach, 
home. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


While Eva had been enjoying herself at the 
shanty with Dick, something was happening at 
the house she had left, that was soon to change 
the whole course of her life. She had been gone 
about half an hour when Mrs. Jones called to see 
Cindy. They sat down to chat awhile, and Mrs. 
Jones asked Cindy what she thought of Eva. 

“Wal, I dunno,” replied Cindy. “She seems wil- 
lin’ to do what I tell her, and Ely thinks she is an 
awful nice little girl. Of course, we shall only have 
her till Mrs. Bruler gets home; that was the un- 
derstandin’. ’’ 

Mrs. Jones sniffed and looked wise. “I guess 
that’ll be as long as you’ll want her,” she said. 

“Why? aint she a good girl?” asked Cindy, sus- 
piciously. 

“Wal, that depends on what you call a good girl,” - 
said Mrs. Jones, drawing in her thin lips, and look- 
ing very grim. “I don’t call no girl good that 
won’t believe the Bible, nor the minister, nor 
nothin’. And if ever a good man labored with any 
sinner to make ’em see things right, it was the 
Rev. Mr. Pheelbad, when he tried to explain the 
Christian religion to her.” 


292 


EVA. 


“And wouldn’t she listen to him?” asked Cindy, 
breathlessly. 

“Listen to him! Well, if she did listen, she 
didn’t believe it no more than you believe the moon 
is made of green cheese. And she had the brass to 
tell him so.” 

“Why, how you talk!” cried Cindy in a horrified 
voice. 

“I guess if I should tell you what she said; how 
she blasphemed, you’d be more astonished yet.” 

“How was it? Tell me all about it,” panted 
Cindy, leaning forward and laying her hand on 
Mrs. Jones’ arm in her excitement. 

“Why, you see, Mr. Pheelbad was tryin’ to ex- 
plain the Bible to her, for she had told me that 
she did not think it was as interestin’ as the Greek 
— Greek — well, I can’t just remember — but it was 
some kind of ology. What do you think of that?” 

“She said the Bible wasn’t so interestin’ ?” asked 
Cindy. 

“Yes, the Holy Bible.” 

“Land sakes! How dare she say it?” 

“Wait and I will tell you what was even worse 
than that. She wouldn’t be converted by anything 
I could say to her, so I got Brother Pheelbad to 
teach her. Well, he explained and explained, and 
told her the story of Christ’s coming into the world 
on purpose to save sinners’ souls, and she up an’ 
asked him what became of all the souls of the peo- 
ple that lived on earth before Christ’s time, and if 
they was all lost. He told her he supposed not, 
because, of course, they did not know anything 


EYA. 


293 


about Christ, so of course their souls wasn’t lost. 
But he told her that after Christ came, only those 
that believed in Him was saved, all others lost, and 
that little upstart told him right there that if that 
was the case, he might better have— Oh! I’m most 
afraid to say the awful words. But God fergive 
me— she thought He might better have staid away.” 

“Oh! my land!” cried Cindy. “Did she say that?” 

“She did,” replied Mrs. Jones, in an awful voice. 

The two women sat looking at each other in 
horrified silence for a few moments; then Mrs. Jones 
resumed: “I couldn’t bear the sight of her after 
that. I just thought of them words every time I 
laid eyes on her. I felt so sorry for Brother Pheel- 
bad to see him feel so bad. He said she was the 
hardest case he had ever found. She didn’t even 
seem to know that it was wicked fer her to talk 
so. He said mebbe her day of grace was past, and 
if it was, there wa’n’t no use. We’d have to give 
it up. I didn’t turn her out right away, but I 
wished afterward I had, for it would have saved 
my innocent boy some sufferin’, but I kep’ her till 
one day when I was away, she took advantage of 
my bein’ gone, and flogged Eddie with a great big 
cane. I thought that was more’n human patience 
could stand and I turned her out, bag and bag- 
gage. 

“Mrs. Bruler took her in, which surprised me 
more’n anything, for I thought Mrs. Bruler was 
my friend, but she aint, and when I tried to tell 
her about it, she said it didn’t make no difference 
to her what that girl believed or didn’t believe; 


294 


EYA. 


that was nothing to her, and she even kept Ed- 
die’s dog away from him, and wouldn’t give him 
up. I see the dog is hangin’ around here now, 
’cause that girl is here.” 

“Wal, you have told me a good deal that I nev- 
er heard before,” said Cindy. “That girl never 
mentioned any of this to me.” 

“I should think not,” snorted Mrs. Jones, “fer it 
aint anything to her credit, so why should she?” 

“She’s a sly thing er she’d a told me about it. 
She’s”- 

Just then there was a bang on the door, and in 
bolted Eddie Jones all out of breath with running. 
“Ma! ma!” he cried, “I’ve been followin’ that girl 
Eva, and she went to the grocery an’ bought some 
things and then sneaked it fer the woods, and I 
pretended I was goin’ another way, but when she 
didn’t see me, I followed her, and what do you 
think?” 

“What?” “What?” cried the two women. 

“She’s in the sugar shanty out in Lexington’s 
woods, and she give the stuff she bought at the 
grocery to a feller that’s in the shanty, and when 
I come away they set there talkin’ like old chums, 
and he’s the same one that asked me about her 
and then come over here from our house.” 

The two women exchanged meaning glances. 

“Now what do you think?” asked Mrs. Jones. 

“Wal, I never,” said Cindy. “What do you s’pose 
she’s carryin’ stuff to a feller like that for?” 

“Why, can’t you see that this feller must be a tramp 
’er a robber ’er somethin’, an’ she’s helpin’ him on 


EVA. 


295 


the sly? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if they’re a 
pair of burglars, an’ have come here to rob an’ 
pillage. You’d better look out fer your silver to- 
night, Mrs. Navburn, that’s all I’ve got to say. 
I’m glad she ain’t stayin’ to my house. It’s my 
opinion they’re a pair of burglars from the city. 
Come, Eddie, we must be goin’.” 

The mother and son went out leaving Cindy 
gasping with horror, and speechless with astonish- 
ment. 

“You got back just in time,” said Cindy grimly, 
as Eva took off her hat and put on an apron 
preparatory to helping get the evening meal. “It’s 
most half past four and company’s here. Miss 
Erl win come half an hour ago. 

Eva noticed a difference in Cindy’s manner to- 
ward her, but she busied herself in the kitchen, 
where Cindy gave her directions in a tone of voice 
and with a tightening of her lips which boded no 
good to the object of her displeasure. Eva thought 
she felt put out because she did not return sooner, 
so she gave it no further thought. She waited on 
table during supper and she could hardly take her 
eyes off the beautiful girl who sat there as a guest, 
and who seemed out of place amid such humble 
surroundings. Jessamine noticed that the young 
girl who was helping Cindy was unusually pretty 
and delicate looking, but she gave no further atten- 
tion to her. After the meal was over Jessamine 
went to her room to unpack some things, and Ely 
went out to see a friend who was ill. The storm 
had increased in violence until the force of it shook 
the house and made the windows rattle. 


296 


EVA. 


Eva had just finished putting away the dishes 
when Cindy said: “Now that there is a chance to 
speak to you without bein’ overheard, I want to 
ask you if you had a visitor here in my house 
yesterday afternoon?” 

Eva looked surprised and hesitated an instant 
before replying. She hardly knew what to say. 
Dick had told her to say nothing of his. coming, 
and she did not wish to deny the truth. Evidently 
Cindy had heard of it so she might as well ac- 
knowledge it. “Yes,” she said, “a boy whom I 
knew in the city came here to see me yesterday 
when you were out.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me of it?” demanded Cindy 
suspiciously. 

“I didn’t think you would care or want to 
know,” faltered Eva, flushing with embarrassment 
which Cindy at once construed as guilt. 

“He said he would rather I would not mention 
it.” 

“Oh!” snorted Cindy. “He told you not to tell 
me that he was here? Why, I should like to know? 
If his intentions had been honest he would be 
willin’ I should know.” 

Eva’s fair face flushed crimson now. Her eyes 
sparkled with indignant fire. She could not bear 
to hear Dick spoken of as though he was a crim- 
inal. 

“Now,” said Cindy wrathfully, her voice rising 
in her excitement until it penetrated to the bed- 
room where Jessamine could not help hearing 
what she said, “Didn’t you go to the woods this 


EVA. 


297 


afternoon and stay there with this same feller fer 
two mortal hours?” 

“I did,” replied Eva, with a haughty lifting of 
her head. 

“Wal, I’ll be jiggered!” cried Cindy her voice 
rising to a shriek. “If you aint got a pile of brass 
to stand there an’ own it up as cool as a cucum- 
ber. You shameless little hussy. I’ve heard all 
about you this afternoon. Mrs. Jones was here 
while you was visitin’ that young tough out there 
in the woods, an’ she told me just what a heathen 
you are, an’ how you refused to believe the Bible 
an’ how you abused Eddie, her little boy, an’ it 
was him that see that feller come here yesterday. 
He said he come there first an’ asked fer you, an’ 
when he told him you was stayin’ here he come 
straight here. It’s a wonder he didn’t rob this 
house yesterday with you to help him. I’ve heard 
of just such cases. These innocent lookin’ girls 
from the city gittin’ places to work a purpose 
to get a chance to let a gang of thieves into the 
house to rob and murder their employer’s family. 
I aint so green as to be took in that way. I have 
to thank Mrs. Jones and Eddie fer warnin’ me in 
time. Eddie follered you and see you meet this 
feller in the woods today and he come right an’ 
told me. So if you and that young desperado 
was intendin’ to burgle this house you’ve missed 
fire this time. I aint goin’ to keep you here 
another night, so you can just put on your hat 
an’ git right out o’ this house.” 

Eva tried to vindicate herself and Dick, but 


298 


EVA. 


Cindy would listen to nothing she could say. She 
brought Eva’s few belongings and handed them to 
her, then opening the door, said, “Git! you can go 
to the woods an’ stay with your accomplisher. 
You can’t stay here tonight.” 

As she opened the door a blast of wind almost 
took her breath away. The storm was raging 
wildly now, and flashes of lightning were all that 
illuminated the darkness of the night. The rain 
was descending in torrents. 

With a little gasping cry Eva recoiled from the 
prospect of making a battle with the elements. 

“Oh! not in this dreadful wind and rain and 
darkness,” she said piteously. 

“It’s good enough for you. It serves you right! 
Now git!” cried Cindy pushing her through the 
doorway. 

With a cry of despair Eva went forth into the 
stygian darkness. Cindy slammed the door shut 
and turned to face Jessamine who was standing 
in the center of the room, a witness to this last 
act. Her face was white and her brown eyes 
glowing with excitement as she advanced to Cindy’s 
side and seizing her fat arm said in low, intense 
tones: “Call her back instantly. I’m sure you 
have punished her enough for anything she may 
have done. She will be drenched in this awful 
storm.” 

“I aint goin’ to call her back,” declared Cindy 
sullenly. “She may go to the woods an’ stay 
with” — 

If the sentence was ever finished Jessamine did 


EYA. 


299 


not hear it, for she had snatched up a shawl and 
dashed out of the house. Running out to the 
street she called wildly for Eva to come back, but 
there was no answer but the howling of the wind 
and crashing of the trees. Then a blinding flash 
of lightning which seemed to last almost a minute 
revealed a little figure struggling against the fury’ 
of the storm and moving down the road as fast 
as was possible in the face of such overpowering 
gusts as were sweeping the torrents of rain down 
upon it. Jessamine started in pursuit calling to 
her to “stop” — to “come back,” but the noise of 
the storm drowned her voice before it could reach 
Eva, and Jessamine determined to overtake her. 
But the little slender figure kept on just ahead, 
though by the flashes of lightning Jessamine could 
see that she was gaining upon the object of her 
pursuit. Hoping to overtake her she struggled on, 
but she did not gain very fast, while the storm 
seemed to increase in violence. 

“I cannot leave the poor child to perish,” thought 
Jessamine, “and she can find no shelter on this road 
nearer than the haunted house. She will never be 
able to reach the woods, and if she did, their shel- 
ter would be more dangerous than the open fields, 
on account of falling limbs. Oh! what shall I do?” 

“She paused an instant and turned her back to 
the wind to catch her breath, then turned again 
and hurried on. Her light slippers were soaked 
through and so also were her garments, but she 
saw by another flash that the little figure was 
only a short distance ahead now, and she hoped 


300 


EYA. 


to soon overtake her. She had no breath with 
which to call out, and all her hope lay in covering 
the distance between them. It seemed like half an 
hour to the exhausted girl, though it was really 
only three or four minutes before another flash 
showed her the object of her pursuit only a few 
feet ahead. Making a superhuman effort she at 
last grasped at Eva’s garments and succeeded in 
catching her skirts and arresting her flight. Then 
slipping her arm through her’s, she brought her to 
a standstill, at the same time stumbling over a 
soft, yielding body which was near the ground. 
It was Curley who was following his best friend, 
and he gave a little cry when Jessamine tripped 
over him. 

For a moment Jessamine was too exhausted and 
out of breath to speak, then she gasped out: 
“Come back to the house and I will see that you 
are not turned out again.’’ 

“I guess it is nearer to the shanty in the woods 
than it is to go back,” said Eva. “We had both 
better go on.” 

“We can’t go to the woods!” cried Jessamine. 
“We might get killed by falling trees.” As she 
spoke a gust of wind almost lifted her off the 
ground. She was blown against a tree by the side 
of the road, while Eva dropped down on the 
ground to keep from being carried away. Jessa- 
mine clasped her arms around the tree trunk to 
steady herself and called to Eva to do the same. 
As soon as she dared get upon her feet, she took 
refuge with Jessamine, holding on to the tree for 
safety. 


EVA. 


301 


“I believe the wind grows worse and worse,” 
said Jessamine. “What shall we do if we can’t go 
back? I am drenched to the skin and I know you 
are also. If the storm does not abate before long 
what will become of us?” 

As she finished speaking there came another long, 
continued flash, and by its glow, she saw yawn- 
ing only a short distance beyond, the entrance to 
the grounds of the haunted house. At the sight a 
tumult of conflicting thoughts took possession of 
her. If they could once get inside the grounds the 
masses of evergreen trees that swept the earth 
with their heavy branches, would be a protection 
from the wind so that they might be able to reach 
the house itself. But what a shelter to choose on 
such a night as this. Dare they take refuge within 
those dark, forbidding walls? They knew not what 
might be there before them. The thought struck 
terror to her heart. It was very different, enter- 
ing such a place on such a night as this, to going 
into it with a couple of adventurous companions 
on a bright, moonlight night. She thought rapidly 
for the next few moments, while she held fast to 
the tree. But she began to feel very cold and 
chilly, in her thin garments, saturated as they 
were. Curley was crouching at Eva’s feet and 
whining. Jessamine put out a hand and touched 
Eva’s arm, only to find her shaking as with an 
ague. 

“You are cold and so am I,” she said between 
her chattering teeth. “There is a vacant house near 
by. Shall we try to reach it?” 


302 


EVA. 


“I think we had better try,” said Eva. “We shall 
be chilled through if we stay here.” 

That decided Jessamine. She would risk it. 
“Any port in a storm” was acceptable, even if it 
was a haunted house. This girl’s health as well 
as her own must be taken into consideration. If 
they did not get under some kind of shelter they 
would both take violent colds. She grasped Eva 
about the waist. 

“Now, when there is a lull in the wind we will 
make a dash for the gateway. Now!” 

They made the effort and succeeded, and as Jes- 
samine had reasoned, after they were once inside 
the grounds the force of the wind was broken by 
the shrubbery and evergreens. They made their 
way along the grass-grown carriage drive until 
the grim walls of the house itself rose dark, 
gloomy and forbidding from the surrounding trees. 
They ascended the little balcony and entered by the 
broken door, where Earnest Grayland had entered 
on that eventful night which came so forcibly now 
to Jessamine’s mind, and stood still just within 
the room, waiting to get their breath and listen- 
ing for any sound that would indicate that there 
was any occupant ahead of them; but all was 
silent and deserted, and the only sound to be 
heard was the roaring of the storm outside. 

The darkness was intense, and it was some 
moments before Jessamine ventured to move about 
in search of the old couch which she remembered 
as standing in this room. But she finally groped 
her way cautiously and silently to it, and passing 


EYA. 


303 : 


her hands carefully over it and finding it all clear,, 
she seated herself upon it and drew Eva down be- 
side her, while Curley with a sigh of satisfaction, 
stretched himself at their feet. 

For what seemed like an hour to Jessamine they 
sat there in silence, listening to the wind, the rat- 
tle of the vines, the crash of the swaying branches 
and the beating of the rain. She dared not speak 
aloud for fear there might be some other tenant 
in this grewsome place. She could not see her 
companion, the darkness was so great, excepting 
when a flash of lightning more prolonged than 
usual illuminated the windows. 

“She is a courageous little thing,” she thought,, 
“for not many girls of her age would endure what 
she has tonight without a whimper. She never 
objected to enter this place or expressed the slight- 
est fear, and she looks so delicate, too. But she 
probably thinks this is merety an empty house, 
and knows nothing of the tragedy that occurred 
here or the reputation which the place has of be- 
ing haunted, or wild horses could not have dragged 
her in here. She is nothing but a child, anyway. 
How could Aunt Cindy have the heart to turn her 
out such a night as this? How fortunate it was 
that I happened to be there. If I had not, the 
chances are she would have tried to reach the 
shanty in the woods, and she might have been, 
killed. If Uncle Ely had been at home this would 
not have happened. When he gets home won’t 
there be a scene?” 

She did not take into consideration the proba- 


304 


EYA. 


bilitv that Cindy would not say anything to him 
about the affair until morning, and that he would 
suppose they were all snugly in bed when he came 
home from his sick friend’s. But these were the 
real facts in the case: 

After Jessamine ran out into the street and called, 
and Eva did not return, Cindy expected to see Jes- 
samine re-enter the house, but when five minutes 
had elapsed and she did not come, she threw a 
shawl over her head and waddled out to the street. 
Seeing nothing of her out there, she called but 
there was no answer. She called again several 
times and hearing nothing of her, she began to feel 
alarmed. Going back into the house she lighted a 
lantern and wrapping herself in a large cloak she 
started out again. She was too heavy to be in 
much danger of being blown away, but she could 
see nothing in the darkness, her lantern having 
been blown out by the first gust of wind, and not 
being at all sure-footed she had not gone far 
when she slipped in the soft mud, and came down 
with a thud and a splash in a puddle of water, 
with a force that shook every pound of flesh in 
her body, and caused her to see flashes which were 
not a part of the storm. Her lantern was broken 
in the fall, and when she could get upon her feet 
again she made her way back to the house as 
quickly as she could. 

She was frightened now at what she had done. 
Not that she regretted her harshness to Eva, but 
she was very uneasy about Jessamine. She went 
to bed in anything but an enviable frame of mind. 


EYA. 


305 


“I don’t see what possessed Jessamine to chase 
after that little trollop,” she said to herself, “and 
nobody knows what’ll happen to her. It aint no 
place fer her out there in the woods along with 
them two young desperadoes. If anythin’ happens 
to her they will all blame me fer it, an’ her 
father’ll be awful mad.” 

She feigned sleep when Ely came in, and he tip- 
toed about so as not to awaken anyone, but 
although she kept her eyes closed she could not 
sleep and morning found her still awake. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


In the little house near the western gate, occu- 
pied by Eva’s old nurse and her husband, a strange 
scene was being enacted on the night of the storm. 
They had retired early, being fatigued with the 
work of the day, and were slumbering in spite of 
the noise made by the warring elements. The little 
clock on the shelf in their cozy little sitting-room 
had just chimed eleven when the woman awoke 
with a cry, and sat up in bed. Her husband turned 
sleepily and asked her what was the matter, but 
she was already out of bed and putting on 
her clothes with feverish haste. He rubbed his 
eyes and, raising himself up, looked at her in amaze- 
ment. “What does ail you, Annie?” he said im- 
patiently. “What is the matter?” 

“Eva has come,” she said, turning toward him 
a face transfigured with joy. “I have just seen my 
mistress again, in a dream, and she looked so 
happy and smiling, and her face and form glowed 
with light. She said so plainly that I heard every 
word as distinctly as though you had spoken to 
me: ‘Eva has come’ — then raising her arm she 
pointed in the direction of the great house and 
said, ‘Eva is there.’ I’m sure I don’t know what 


EYA. 


307 


it means any more than you do, but I am going 
to see.” 

“You’re crazy, Annie,” said the man in an 
anxious tone. “You have brooded over this mat- 
ter until you are gone clean daft about it. You 
are not going up to the big house at this time of 
night, in this raging storm, on such a wild goose 
chase as that, I hope.” 

“I am going up there,” she said joyously, “for I 
know that something has happened that concerns 
Eva. I saw my mistress as plainly as I ever saw 
anyone in my life, and I can hear the tones of her 
voice now, so clearly did she speak the words, 
‘Eva has come! — Eva is there.’ Do you think she 
would come to me like that if there was no reason 
for it? Something has happened. I can feel it.” 

“You dreamed it,” said the man. “I tell you, 
Annie, you must not give way to such fancies. 
Your mind will become clouded, and the first thing 
I know I shall have you under a doctor’s care. 
You should not allow yourself to imagine such 
things, and dwell upon them all the time. Come 
back to bed and be sensible.” 

She laughed out merrily. “I am going to see if 
Eva has come,” she said, leaving the room, and 
with a groan the man got up out of bed and be- 
gan to put on his clothes, preparatory to accom- 
panying her. He could hear her stepping about in 
the next room, getting matches and her shawl and 
lantern, but when he finally came out into the 
little sitting-room she was gone. He hurried on 
his rain-coat, and opening the outside door dashed 


308 


EYA. 


out in pursuit of her. He knew the direction she 
would take. That she would enter by the back 
door, and he turned his steps in that direction, 
bemoaning the folly of turning out on such a night 
as this, on such a crazy errand. 

Jessamine and Eva sitting there on the old couch, 
wdth their arms about each other, had just whis- 
pered that the storm seemed to be abating; that 
the wind did not seem to be blowing quite so 
furiously, when Jessamine’s heart gave a great 
bound of terror at the sound of a door slammed 
shut somewhere in the vastness of the great house. 
She held her breath and listened, striving to con- 
trol the trembling which seized her, for she did not 
wish to frighten her companion. 

“What was that?” whispered Eva. 

“A door swinging in the wind, I guess,” replied 
Jessamine, striving to appear calm. 

“You are trembling,” whispered Eva. “Are you 
afraid?” 

“What is there to fear?” replied Jessamine. She 
was almost certain she could hear footsteps ap- 
proaching, but she struggled against the feeling 
of terror which had taken possession of her. Yes, 
surely there was the sound of feet in the hall 
above. Curley raised his head with a low growl. 
A light glimmered through the archway which 
opened into the hall, and the sound of footsteps 
descending the grand-staircase was plainly audible. 

With their faces turned in the direction of the 
approaching footsteps, and their eyes fixed on the 
light, which was growing brighter every moment, 


EVA. 


309 


the two girls waited in silence the entrance of their 
visitor. Jessamine’s face was white with fear, but 
Eva did not seem to consider the situation as in 
any way frightful. As they gazed there . came into 
view, leisurely descending the stairs, the figure of 
a little woman wrapped in a huge shawl, and car- 
rying a lantern. She reached the bottom of the 
stairs, and turning, came toward them. Curley 
sprang up with a bark and a startled growl, and 
the woman paused and raised the lantern on high, 
peering through the gloom toward the dog. 

“Is anyone here?” she said in sweet, clear voice, 
and one that was decidedly a very human voice. 

Jessamine sprang up with a glad cry. “Yes, yes! 
We are here. We came here to get in out of the 
storm,” she said, advancing. 

The woman held the lantern so that its light fell 
on Jessamine’s beautiful face, and a look of disap- 
pointment passed over her own. “Not this one,” 
she said, as though speaking to herself. “I should 
know her, I am sure.” She smiled reassuringly at 
Jessamine, and patted Curley, who was wagging 
his tail and uttering whines of welcome to the 
new comer. She advanced a step or two into the 
room, and seeing another form behind Jessamine, 
again raised the lantern and stepped forward, so 
that its rays fell full on Eva’s upturned face. 

With a scream that the two girls never forgot 
she dropped the light, and falling on her knees be- 
fore Eva she clasped her arms about her, and draw- 
ing the young girl to her heart she began to cry and 
murmur incoherent words, all the time caressing 


310 


EYA. 


her, and calling her her baby, her lost one, her 
darling, and the two girls were becoming fully con- 
vinced that the woman was a harmless lunatic, 
until in her wild ravings she called her “Eva,” and 
while the mention of that name in this house, sent 
a thrill of wonder and joy tingling through Jessa- 
mine’s nerves, it filled Eva only with a puzzled 
surprise, that this woman should know her name, 
for she could not recall ever having seen her before 
this night. 

Jessamine had picked up the light and was hold- 
ing it so that it shone directly on the actors in 
this strange scene. Curley not liking the woman’s 
violent demonstrations toward his beloved mis- 
tress, ran about and barked his disapproval and 
occasionally tugged at the woman’s dress in a vain 
effort to make her release Eva from her close em- 
brace. 

For at least five minutes Mrs. Pray ton was so 
overcome with her agitation that she could make 
no explanation of her conduct, but after the first 
transports of her joy had subsided in a degree, she 
turned to Jessamine and pointing upward toward 
the portrait of Eva’s mother over the fireplace, 
she said tremulous^: 

“Isn’t she the very image of her mother?” 

Jessamine looked at the portrait, and then at 
Eva, and her heart bounded like a wild thing in 
her excitement. 

“Who are you?” she gasped, seizing Eva’s arm 
and gazing intently into her face. 

“My name is Eva Dumond,” replied Eva, won- 
dering if Jessamine, too, had gone insane. 


EYA. 


311 


Jessamine fell back with a low cry. That name 
was another link in the chain, and while she stood 
silent, gazing first at Eva, then at the portrait, 
and then at Mrs. Prayton, the latter took the 
lantern and held it so that both the portrait and 
Eva’s face were plainly visible. Jessamine could 
see that the resemblance was striking, and she be- 
gan t6 realise why Eva had attracted her attention 
when she saw her for the first time that night at 
her uncle’s house. 

The nurse now began to act more like a rational 
being. She took Eva’s hands in both her own. 

“Your name is Evangeline Grayland,” she said, 
“and you are my lost baby, and that is your 
mother’s picture, and this house is your home, and 
I am your old nurse. You were stolen from me 
when you were about a year old.” 

At this juncture the slamming of a door again 
echoed through the house. “That is Joe, I guess,” 
said Mrs. Prayton, “he has come to see where I 
am.” 

Heavy steps were heard approaching and soon 
the man appeared in the archway. “I saw light 
in this part of the house so I thought I’d find you 
here,” he said, then gazing curiously at the two 
girls, he relapsed into silence. His wife stepped to 
his side and laid her hand on his arm. 

“Joe,” she said in a low, clear voice in which 
the happiness of her heart found expression, “my 
dreams have come true. That is Eva, and you see 
she has come home. I found her here just as I 
felt sure I should. Oh! Joe, isn’t it wonderful?” 


312 


EYA. 


“Well, I must confess that it is,” he said. “I 
thought you had gone crazy, but if that is the 
girl you have been lookin’ for and dreamin’ about 
it really is wonderful. I’ll own I’m beat in the 
argument. But are you sure you have found the 
right one?” 

“Oh, yes, yes!” she cried. “I recognised her 
instantly. Just look here.” She led him up before 
the portrait, and turning Eva tenderly about so 
that he could see her features, she said triumph- 
antly, “There! Joe, you can never doubt it now, 
can you?” 

“They are as much alike as two peas,” said the 
man. 

All this which had transpired so rapidly had 
awakened great surprise and wonder in Eva’s 
mind. She did not understand it all, but she 
realized that she had found in the person of this 
woman a friend who had known her origin and 
been connected in some manner with her life during 
her infancy. But the whole thing was, of course, 
not clear to her. She said very little, but she was 
conscious that a great happiness was taking pos- 
session of her. The thought that she had at last 
found someone who really knew who she was and 
all about her parents and her former home, was a 
great satisfaction to her. Jessamine was radiant. 
To think that it should be her privilege to send 
the blessed news to Ernest that Evangeline was 
found, seemed too good to be true. She felt afraid 
that she would awake and find it a dream. 

The nurse now proposed that they all return to 


EYA. 


313 


her cottage for the remainder of the night, which 
they gladly consented to do. When they arrived 
there the little woman made them change their 
wet clothing for warm, dry garments, after which 
she made some tea and set out a lunch for them, 
insisting that they should eat something and retire 
immediately after, and wait until morning before 
they explained anything further. 

They soon were in a warm, soft bed, and after 
the excitement and fatigue they had undergone,, 
tired nature drifted them into a sound and peace- 
ful sleep. The sun was high in the heavens the 
next morning when they awoke, but not until 
breakfast was over would the nurse begin the 
thousand and one questions she was longing to 
to ask. 

After they returned to the little sitting room 
they began their several stories, and when Jes- 
samine and Mrs. Prayton had finished their part 
of the recital, Eva fully understood that she was 
restored to her right place in the world at last. 

Then she told them all her story, but shielding 
Fanchette so much in that part pertaining to Will 
Evers, and the influence he exercised in causing her 
to leave the city, that the nurse merely supposed 
that he was a suitor for her hand in marriage 
and whom she disliked so intensely that she fled 
to the country to escape his unwelcome attentions. 
Jessamine understood the real situation, of course, 
but she said no word that could prejudice the nurse 
against Fanchette. 

When Eva told them of Dick Delmorn, and how 


*314 


EYA. 


good and kind he had always been, not alone to her, 
but to everything living that ever fell into his hands, 
and how he had come to her in Greenaell and 
brought her kitten in a covered basket, the nurse 
proposed that her husband go to the shanty and 
bring him home to stay with them; but Jessamine, 
who had been thinking very fast all through Eva’s 
story, had decided to make the most of an op- 
portunity which presented itself forcibly to her. 
She would go to the old couple, Mr. and Mrs. 
Brown, who were in such straightened circumstances, 
and ask them to take Dick as a boarder and at 
the same time let him think he was working for 
them. She would pay his board and he could help 
Mr. Brown about his garden, and in that way the 
plan would help both them and him. She pro- 
posed this plan to the nurse and Eva and they 
thought it a very generous offer on her part, and 
they said so with enthusiasm. 

“I have often wanted to help those old people,” 
said Jessamine, “but I could think of no way that 
would not wound their pride. I know that they 
have to pinch every way to get along and procure 
the necessaries of life, and if I pay them a good 
sum for Dick’s board, it will add to their income. 
And at the same time, if Dick thinks he is earning 
his board by working for Mr. Brown, he will be 
satisfied and happy for a time, until I can see Mr. 
Grayland, and I am sure he will give him a chance 
in life that will put him in a way to be self-sup- 
porting.” 

And thus it was arranged. Jessamine was to 


EYA. 


315 


notify Ernest Grayland of what had transpired, 
and Eva was to stay with her old nurse until he 
came or sent for her. 

“I want to keep my little Eva with me as long 
as I can, for just see how many years of her sweet 
life I have been deprived of her,” she said, and 
Jessamine told her she did not wonder at her re- 
luctance to give her up again. 

Later in the day, when Jessamine returned to 
the house of her uncle, she found the window- 
shades down, and everything wearing a deserted 
look, but the door was not locked, and upon en- 
tering the house she heard moans issuing from the 
bedroom, off the sitting-room, and going to the 
door rapped for admittance. A faint “come in” 
was the response, and she entered the darkened 
room which was odorous with camphor, and when 
her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she dis- 
covered Cindy in a shapeless heap upon the bed, 
sobbing and moaning as though in great distress. 

“What is the matter?” asked Jessamine. “Are 
you ill?” 

At the sound of that voice Cindy sprang up with 
an alacrity which surprised Jessamine, and throw- 
ing her arms around the girl, hugged her enthusi- 
astically. “Oh! is it you?” she cried. “I thought 
mebbe you was dead— killed in the storm. Ely 
said he shouldn’t wonder if you was. He said if 
anything had happened to you I’d be responsible 
for it. He was awful mad. I never see him so 
mad in all my life. He didn’t find it out till this 
mornin’ and then I thought he’d raise the roof. 


316 


EYA. 


He’s gone now, and he said if he didn’t find you 
all safe somewhere, he’d never live with me an- 
other day. Oh, he went on perfectly awful. He 
said I was the biggest fool that was ever put into 
the shape of a woman. He said that girl, Evy, 
was all right, an probably the boy was too. He 
said Eddie Jones was a little devil, an’ his mother 
was no better, and that if I’d had as many brains 
as an angleworm I wouldn’t drive anybody out of 
the house for anything that them two had said. 
Mebbv now, that you have come back all safe, he 
will come home; but I never see him so bilin’ mad 
as he was when he went away.” 

Jessamine smiled in spite of her indignation which 
she had intended to express in regard to Cindy’s 
driving Eva forth into the storm. But she now 
saw that Cindy was getting punishment meted out 
to her in another way, so she did not say any- 
thing to add to her misery. 

When Cindy had wiped her eyes, and her sobs 
had subsided, she asked: “Where did you stay last 
night?” and when Jessamine told her that they had 
first taken refuge in the haunted house, her remorse 
knew no bounds. 

“How did you ever dare go in there?” she said. 
“I believe I would lie right down in a ditch of 
muddy water and make my bed in it before I’d go 
into that awful place. I don’t believe nothin’ in 
ghosts, but I’d never go in there in the daytime, 
let alone at night. It’s a wonder you are here to 
tell of it.” 

When Cindy had calmed down sufficient^, Jes- 


EVA. 


317 


samine told her the wonderful revelations in re- 
gard to Eva. She listened in open-mouthed aston- 
ishment. Ely coming in before it was finished, 
greeted Jessamine with relief and joy. 

“I went to the woods and found the boy, all 
right,” he said. “He was there in the shanty, and 
he hadn’t seen anything of either of you, and then 
I went up to Lexington’s, and you hadn’t been 
there, and then I didn’t know what to do. I 
started back, and on the way I saw Joe Pray ton, 
and he said they found you in the haunted house 
and took you home with them, and he guessed 
you’d got back here by this time. I was mighty 
glad to hear it, I tell you. There are trees blown 
down in the woods, and limbs broken off and the 
roads are washed out in places. The boy in the 
shanty said he thought the roof would be smashed 
in, the trees crashed about so. But he is all right, 
and the roof of the shanty is whole, so there was 
no harm done to him.” 

Jessamine began at the time when she caught up 
with Eva, and gave him a description of their ex- 
perience in the haunted house. Then, continuing, 
told him the story of Eva in detail. He listened 
in amazement, and when she had finished, he ex- 
pressed his satisfaction in emphatic terms. 

“I knew there was good blood in that little girl,” 
he said. “I thought, there was something about 
her looks that was familiar, and now this accounts 
for it. She resembles her mother, and I used to see 
her when she came out here to the old place; 
but that was so many 3'ears ago it is no wonder 


318 


EVA. 


I could not remember where I had seen a face like 
hers.” 

They talked for some time on this subject and 
discussed Eva’s prospects, and while they were thus- 
engaged, Mr. Lexington and Cecil came and ex- 
pressed their joy at finding Jessamine safe. They 
urged her to return home with them, but she wished 
to attend to the business she had planned of pro- 
viding a home for Dick, so she promised to come 
to them in a day or two, and they took their de- 
parture. 

After they had gone, and peace having been re- 
stored in the Nayburn household, she sat down 
and wrote a long letter to Ernest, in which she 
told him of the wonderful good fortune which had 
befallen her in being permitted to find his long- 
lost cousin in such a remarkable manner. This 
done, she started on her mission to Mr. and Mrs. 
Brown. 

The little cottage was as bright and cheerful as 
usual, and it seemed to Jessamine that the white 
wings of peace always hovered over this little home. 
She found the old couple engaged in looking over 
some books on gardening, and making plans for 
another year. They welcomed her with pleasure, 
and she asked them if the storm had done them 
any damage. They replied that there was none of 
any consequence. Only a little soil washed out of 
the garden, two or three limbs broken off the fruit 
trees, and a little leak in the roof, where a few 
shingles blew off, but they were very thankful that, 
was all. 


EVA. 


319 " 


Jessamine expressed her satisfaction that it was 
no worse, and then plunged directly into the sub- 
ject in question. She told them Eva’s story and 
how even now Ernest Grayland was searching for 
her. Then she made her proposal that they should 
take Dick to live with them for a time until some- 
thing should be decided on in regard to his posi- 
tion in life. That she would pay his board to 
them and they were to allow him to think he was 
working for it, and after he had been with them 
four weeks they were to pay him a dollar a week, 
which Jessamine would also furnish, if he proved 
helpful to Mr. Brown. And so it was arranged. 
The only thing upon which they disagreed was 
the price of his board. When Jessamine mentioned 
five dollars a week they both declared that it was 
too much. But Jessamine was firm. 

“You will have a good many steps to take for 
him,” she said to Mrs. Brown, “and there will be 
his mending to do, for boys are hard on clothes. 
It is a small remuneration for all that. I will 
pay you five dollars a week for his board, and 
when he has been here four weeks, if he is helpful 
to you, I will raise it to six so you can pay him 
one dollar a week and that is little enough. Mr. 
Grayland will interest himself in Dick on account 
of what Dick has done for Eva, and he will find 
some good trade or business for him, or perhaps 
send him to school or adopt him. I’m sure he 
will do something handsome for him.” 

“But we live very plainly and simply,” said Mrs,,. 


320 


EVA. 


Brown, “and three dollars a week would more 
than pay for what the boy would cost us.” 

“Never mind,” said Jessamine, laughing, “I shall 
pay just what I have proposed and not one cent 
less. So that is settled, and I hope he will help 
3^ou enough to make up for the extra work you 
will have to do for him.” 

“We will be very glad to take him like that,” she 
said, “and shall be more than paid.” 

Jessamine left them with a light heart, and went 
directly to the house of Joe Pray ton, where she 
told Eva and Mrs. Prayton of her success. It was 
decided that Eva should be the one to carry the 
news to Dick that a place had been found for him 
where he could work about the house and garden 
and earn his board until something better turned 
up. So that afternoon Eva went out to the 
woods and acquainted Dick with her good fortune 
as well as his. 

“And just think, Dick,” she said, when she had 
finished the story of her remarkable experiences, 
“if you had sent me to any other village than this 
one, I might never have found my real home, and 
my own relatives. So you see I owe all this good 
luck to you.” 

Dick listened in wonder and joyful amazement to 
it all, and then said: “Eva, we have struck it rich, 
that’s sure. I am almost as lucky as you are, for 
now I will never have to go back to the city and 
sell papers again. I shall like working in the gar- 
den for Mr. Brown, for I have always wished I 
could do something like that, and I like the 


EVA. 


321 


country. But just to think that the haunted house 
belongs to you, and has all this time. It is just 
like a fairy tale, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” she said smiling, with tears in her eyes, 
"‘and I am so happy, Dick, I can’t tell you how 
happy I am.” 


/ 


CHAPTER XX. 


Jessamine’s letter brought Ernest Grayland in 
hot haste to Greendell, and there was an interest- 
ing meeting in the little cottage of the Pra} r tons. 
He was much pleased with Eva, and pronounced 
himself satisfied beyond a doubt as to her identity. 
There was a council held at which Jessamine, Eva, 
Mr. and Mrs. Prayton and Ernest were present, 
and it was decided that Eva must be sent away 
to school for three years at least, that the haunted 
house should be called by that grim title no more,, 
and steps should be taken to restore it to its 
former grandeur, and Eva desired that it should be 
known by its former name, the one which her 
parents had bestowed upon it, that of Arcadia. 

“And we will try to make it worthy of the 
name,” said Ernest. 

“But it will cost an awful lot of money, won’t 
it?” asked Eva. 

They all smiled. “We won’t worry about that,” 
said Ernest. “There will be money enough forth- 
coming when it is required. You will be a rich 
woman, Eva.” 

“Oh!” she cried. “I am so glad. Then I can pro- 
vide for Dick and Fanchette, and they will never 


EYA. 


323 


be obliged to go without anything they may want.” 

“Yes,” said Ernest, “both Fanchette and Dick 
shall be provided for.” 

“And when may I go back and see Fanchette?” 
asked Eva. 

Jessamine and Ernest exchanged glances. They 
had shielded Fanchette’s name from reproach thus 
far, not wishing that anyone here should know 
the truth regarding her mode of life. They both 
knew that it would be better for Eva not to have 
that become known. In telling Eva’s story they 
had assiduously avoided mentioning in what street 
she had lived, or what the circumstances were of 
this woman who had given her a home. They 
were very anxious that no hint of the truth should 
become known, and they hoped to manage it so 
that the past life of the woman who had reared 
Eva from infancy should be buried in oblivion. 

But Eva begged to be allowed to see Fanchette 
and Ernest promised her that he would arrange 
it so that she might. He intended to go to 
Fanchette and ask her to give up her present way 
of living, promising to provide her with an 
annuity which would be quite sufficient for her 
needs, and ask her for Eva’s sake to let the past 
remain a secret so much as it was possible; that 
she should do or say nothing that would arouse 
suspicion toward the young girl who was so soon 
to take her place in the world. From what he 
had seen of Fanchette he was quite convinced 
that her fondness for Eva would be the strongest 
safeguard. But he felt that it was a very un- 


324 


EYA. 


pleasant complication. He hardly knew what to 
do in regard to arranging a meeting between them. 
Eva must not be allowed to return for one in- 
stant to the house of Fanchette as it now was. If 
she must see Fanchette, the visit must be arranged 
to take place somewhere else. But where? 

It was Jessamine’s wit that came to the rescue. 
When they were left alone for a few moments she 
said: “Go to Fanchette Dumond and lay the case 
before her, reserving only one fact, that of Eva’s 
fortune being as great as it is. Let her know 
that Eva is well off but do not inform her that 
she has almost a million in her own right. Appeal 
to the woman’s better nature to do what is fair 
and right for Eva’s sake, and I will wager that 
she will show as unselfish and self-sacrificing a 
heart as you will find among the so-called respec- 
table class. If I am any judge of human nature 
from appearances, I will guarantee that this wo- 
man who has cared for Eva from her infancy, and 
shielded her from contact with the vile beings who 
surrounded them on every side in that locality, 
will show a heart and an amount of feeling that 
would do credit to a citizen of high standing. 

“Show her that you trust her, appeal to the 
better side of her nature and she will not disap- 
point us, I am sure. Then when she agrees to all 
this change and consents to renounce her present 
way of living, have her come to Greendell— no one 
knows her here— and put up at the village inn for 
a few days so that she may see and be with Eva 
for a time before Eva goes away to school. Mrs. 


EYA. 


325 


Prayton will insist that Eva stay with her until 
that time, and if Fanchette stops at the inn, no 
one will be the wiser. No one will be inconvenienced 
and we will not be conscience smitten at the thought 
that we have allowed any of our friends here to 
entertain her without knowing her real character. 
Don’t you think that will be the best way?” 

“I do,” he said, “and we will do just that way 
exactly.” 

So it was arranged that Eva should remain with 
her old nurse until she went to boarding school. 
That Dick should stay with Mr. and Mrs. Brown 
until Ernest decided on what was best for him. 
But he insisted on taking Dick, and Dick’s future, 
entirely upon himself. He declared that he should 
enjoy the management of the boy, and that he 
should be his charge, and he would pay his expenses. 
He approved of what Jessamine had done, and 
decided to let him remain where he was for a 
time, but he insisted on paying his way. 

The glorious month of September was drawing 
to a close, and for three weeks Eva and Dick 
seemed living in a paradise of their own. They 
explored every nook and corner of the old place, 
and as Dick’s duties at Mr. Brown’s did not take 
all his time, they wandered about the village and 
searched the woods and fields for Nature’s treasures 
and curios which are scattered with such a lavish 
hand in the country and wild woods. They en- 
joyed every minute of these golden days. 

Tom Lexington and Dick became great friends 
and planned great things which they meant to 
accomplish sometime. 


326 


EYA. 


Mrs. Prayton showed Eva all the treasures she 
had guarded all these long, lonely years and every 
day was filled to the brim with boundless delight. 

Ernest and Jessamine had returned to the city a 
few days after the council at the Prayton cottage, 
and P'anchette was to come to Greendell the first 
week in October and spend a few days at the inn. 
She had agreed to all the terms which Ernest 
proposed, and expressed herself glad and thankful 
to be permitted to leave the life she had been 
leading, and have an annuity that would keep her 
in the common comforts of life. 

“If you could know how tired I am of it all/’ 
she said to him, “and how like a glimpse of Para- 
dise seems the chance you have given me to leave 
the old life behind me forever, you would never 
doubt me or give yourself one moment’s uneasi- 
ness that I would not keep my word.” 

He expressed himself satisfied with her assur- 
ances, and she immediately began her preparations 
to leave the locality in which she had lived, and 
leave it forever. 

“When once I turn my face from here I shall 
never look back,” she said to herself, “and I only 
wash I could forget it entirely.” 

The news that the heiress of the haunted house 
had been found and restored to her own, ran like 
wild-fire through the village. Great was the won- 
der, and many the conjectures thereto. It was the 
topic of conversation for weeks. Mrs. Jones, Mrs. 
Bruler, and Mrs. Nayburn were objects of great 
interest to the rest of the community, because they 


EYA. 


327 


liad “entertained the angel unawares.” Mrs. Bru- 
ler was still absent from home, so they had to 
content themselves with deluging Mrs. Jones and 
Cindy with questions concerning her, which made 
it somewhat embarrassing for both of them. 

Mrs. Jones felt that she had missed the oppor- 
tunity of a lifetime. “To think,” she said, to Rev. 
Mr. Pheelbad, “that that girl should turn out to 
be the little lost heiress of the Graylands, that 
everybody supposed the Gypsy woman murdered, 
and that she came right to me as if sent by Provi- 
dence, and then I should make the mistake of let- 
ting her leave my house, when if I had kept her, 
and done everything for her, she might have made 
Eddie and me independent for life. We might now 
be her most valued friends. Just think what she 
would be able to do for us with all her money. 
And then to think I was so blind as to let such a 
chance slip through my fingers. It seems hard, 
Brother Pheelbad. I have always tried to be a 
good, Christian woman, and serve the Lord, and 
it was through that very thing that I failed in 
in this. I never could feel toward her as I did at 
first, after she refused to accept the teachings of 
the Bible, that you and I labored so hard to in- 
still into her young mind, and then when she 
whipped my darling, innocent boy, I was filled 
with righteous indignation, and cast her off. I 
think my punishment is pretty heavy, when I have 
only tried to do my duty.” 

“Never mind, sister,” replied the minister, “re- 
member that the ‘Lord ehasteneth whom He lov- 


328 


EYA. 


eth, and the ways of Providence are mysterious 
and past finding out.’ You remember that Moses 
was one of God’s chosen servants, and that he 
tried to do his duty and was very faithful, but be- 
cause he failed in one point he was not permitted 
to enter the Promised Land. He was taken up 
where he could view it afar off, but he was not 
allowed to enter it. You are like Moses, one of 
God’s most faithful, devoted servants, but you can 
only view from a distance the joys which might 
have been yours, but for that one mistake. I feel 
for you, sister, I feel very bad for you.” 

Cindy vowed she never would speak to Mrs. 
Jones again, as long as she lived, for she laid the 
blame of her misfortune entirely to her. “And as 
fer that little brat of an Eddie,” she said, wrath- 
fully, “I’ll take a gad to him if he ever comes into 
this yard agin. I never slept one wink last night, 
fer thinkin’ how them two made a fool of me.” 

“I don’t think they could improve much on the 
job Nature had already completed,” said Ely. “So 
you did not sleep a wink, last night. Are you 
sure, Cindy?” 

“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped. “Don’t you 
s’pose I know?” 

“Did you hear me get up to let the dog out?” 
he asked. 

“Of course I did?” 

“Did you hear me get up to let him in?” 

“Well, I should think I did. You made noise 
enough.” 

“That is very strange, Cindy, for I did not get 


EYA. 


329 


•up at all, either to let the dog out or in,” he said 
as he walked out. 

The first week in October came, and with it 
Fanchette. The joy which Eva evinced at meeting 
her foster mother was deep and sincere. Fanchette 
was very much affected, and for two weeks the 
two were together every day. They strolled about 
the village, and through the house and grounds, 
which had been relieved of their gruesome title, 
“haunted,” and would henceforth be known by the 
original name of “Arcadia.” 

Fanchette expressed her delight that Eva had 
fallen heir to such an inheritance, but she did not 
yet know the amount of money which went with 
the estate. She met Dick, and smilingly forgave 
him for the part he had played in inducing Eva to 
come to Greendell. “I am quite a believer in Fate,” 
she said, “and all this looks to me very much 
like the workings of it. And it has turned out 
gloriously for us all. So, Dick, I am going to thank 
instead of blaming you.” 

It was decided that Eva should depart for board- 
ing-school after Thanksgiving. Mrs. Prayton in- 
sisted that she should have her with her to the 
very last. 

Fanchette went back to the city about the mid- 
dle of October, and took up her abode in pleasant 
apartments, in a respectable quarter of the city, 
and entered upon her new life with joy and thank- 
fulness. Eva promised to come and see her when- 
ever she came home on a vacation, and Arcadia 
was to be taken possession of by a gang of work- 


'330 


EYA. 


men, and Ernest and Jessamine were to superin- 
tend operations, until the place was once more 
restored to its former beauty. There was to be a 
new stable erected on the site of the former one, 
-and wherever they were at fault in the plans Mrs. 
Prayton was to supply the desired information 
as to how it had been when she had lived there 
and attended to the wants of her baby mistress. 
It was Eva’s wish that it should be made to look 
as much as possible as it did on the day of the 
tragedy. She treasured all the articles of furniture 
which her old nurse had so faithfully guarded far 
more than anything that could be bought. “For 
all these things are hallowed by associations which 
make them very dear to me,” she said, and Mrs. 
Prayton smiled approvingly, much pleased at her 
appreciation. 

One day, during the last week in October, Eva 
heard that her friend, Mrs. Bruler, had returned 
home, and she went to see her. It had been rain- 
ing almost steadily for ten da\ r s, and the streams 
were swollen, and the roads thick with mud. As 
she neared the house she saw Dan Bruler busily 
engaged in emptying a wagon load of stones on 
top of the rose-bushes which she and Airs. Bruler 
had planted in the corner of the dooryard. “The 
brute,” thought Eva. “I wonder how she could 
^ever come back home to him.” 

She asked if Mrs. Bruler was in, and he answered 
in the affirmative. “She’s upstairs, a-bed, though,” 
he added. “You’d better go right in and not 
knock, fer she won’t hear ye.” 


EYA. 


331 


Eva entered the house, and going to the foot of 
the stairs called softly. A faint voice bade her 
“come up,” and she ascended the stairs and en- 
tered the little bed-room, where Mrs. Bruler lay 
stretched upon the bed, apparently too ill to move. 

She tried to smile a greeting as Eva came to the 
bedside, and Eva, alarmed, asked if she was ill. 
Then bending down to look at her, she was hor- 
rified to see black marks about the woman’s throat. 

“What is it?” she cried. “Dear Mrs. Bruler, what 
is the matter? Oh! what can I do for you?” 

“Nothing,” she gasped. “I’ll be better after a 
while. It is my throat, you see.” 

“I see,” said Eva, “but what is the matter with 
your throat? It is all black and blue.” Then a 
suspicion which seemed almost too horrible to be 
true, flashed through her mind. Could it be pos- 
sible? The more she thought of it the more she be- 
lieved it to be the fact. “You don’t mean— it isn’t 
possible is it,” she faltered, “that your husband 
has been choking you?” 

A faint nod of the head was the reply. 

“Oh!” cried Eva, “how I wish I had the strength 
of a man. I would break every bone in his body 
before I was through.” 

She sat looking at her friend with tears gather- 
ing in her eyes, which were dark now with intense 
feeling. 

“You must have a doctor come and put some- 
thing on your throat, and see how badly you are 
hurt. Oh! why did he do this fiendish thing? I 
don’t understand it.” 


332 


EYA. 


Mrs. Bruler motioned her to bend her head low- 
er, and with an effort whispered, “He was very 
angry with me because my aunt made her will in 
such a way that I can never have a penny of her 
money while he lives, but if I outlive him, I will 
inherit six thousand dollars.” 

“But you are not to blame for your aunt’s do- 
ings,” said Eva. “If he wanted to choke someone 
on account of that, why didn’t he choke her? I 
don’t see how he can blame you.” 

He said I had told her things about him or she 
wouldn’t have fixed it that way. That was what 
made him so furious. But I did not tell her things. 
She had heard them from others, and she asked 
me if he was good to me. I could not lie to 
a dying woman, and all I said was ‘not very,’ but 
that decided her.” 

“You must have Dr. Rhine come in and examine 
your throat,” said Eva. “I’ll go for him now.” 

She started to leave the room, but Mrs. Bruler 
raised herself in bed and grasped her dress. “No, 
no,” she gasped. “I dare not. Dan would be so 
mad he would turn him out of the house. I don’t 
know what he would do.” 

“Well, you are going to have something done for 
you, and I am going to see about it now,” de- 
clared Eva. 

She went down stairs and, going to the door, 
looked out. Dan Bruler was nowhere in sight. 
She went to the front door, and far down the road 
she could see his wagon just disappearing around 
a corner. The sound of wheels coming from the 


EVA. 


333 


opposite direction caused her to look around, and 
she saw Ely Nayburn in his buggy, driving to- 
ward the house. She ran out to the street and 
hailed him, and he drew up quickly with a pleas- 
ant greeting. She hurriedly told him the situation. 
He listened thoughtfully until she had finished. 

“Dr. Rhine is in his office, ” he said. “I saw him 
as I came by. 

“Do you think she is able to get up? If she could 
come out and get into the buggy so I could take her 
to the doctor, she could have her injuries attended 
to and I could bring her back again. Ask her if 
she can go, and Til wait.” 

Eva hastened back and told her friend what Mr. 
Nayburn said. “If you can go you ought to,” she 
said, “and I will stay here till you come back. 
Perhaps I had better stay with you for a while 
after you come back, for he would not dare lay 
violent hands on you while I am here. Do go if 
you can get to the buggy.” 

“Oh, I can go,” she whispered, “but I am afraid 
to risk it.” 

Eva got her shawl and assisted her to arise. 
Then wrapping her up warmly, she assisted her 
down the stairs and out to the street. Ely got 
out and lifted her slight form gently into the ve- 
hicle, then drove slowly in the direction of the 
physician’s office which was at some little distance 
and on another street. 

Eva watched them until they passed out of sight, 
then went back into the house, her heart and soul 
filled with indignation. The more she thought of 


334 


EYA. 


the dastardly cruelty of the man the angrier she 
grew. At last she heard the sound of wagon- 
wheels, and going to the door, looked out. 

Dan Bruler had driven into the yard and was 
unhitching the horse from the wagon. Soon he 
came in. At sight of him there came over Eva a 
strong desire to knock him senseless. She looked 
at him with eyes in which burned all the scorn 
and hatred she felt for him. He strode through 
the room and going to the stairway called Mrs. 
Bruler. There was, of course, no answer. Turning 
to Eva he asked why Mrs. Bruler did not an- 
swer. 

“She is not here,” replied Eva coldly. 

“Not here?” he repeated, staring at her and com- 
prehending by her expression that she knew all. 
“Where is she?” he demanded with an oath. 

A spirit of revenge took possession of Eva. She 
remembered how intensely this man hated Ely 
Nayburn. She determined to torment him in wo- 
man fashion. 

“The last I saw of her she was going up the 
road in the buggy with Mr. Nayburn,” she said 
icily. “I can’t tell you where they have gone. That 
is — I mean — I won’t tell you. 

He uttered a fierce oath and took two strides 
to the door. “Which way did they go?” he de- 
manded, almost choking with rage. 

“The last I saw of them they were headed in 
the direction of Meadowville,” she replied, enjoying 
his discomfiture. 

“Run away! By 


•!” he burst out, “but it aint 


EVA. 


335 


too late to catch them yet.” He dashed out of 
the house and ran down the street to the house of 
Ely Nayburn. 

Bursting into that abode, without rapping, he 
found Cindy in the kitchen. “Did you know your 
man and my woman have gone away in your 
buggy in the direction of Meadowville?” he 
shouted. 

“Lord of mercy!” cried Cindy. “What for? 

“What would it be for if not to run away from 
us? I’m goin’ to put my horse onto my buggy 
and see if I can’t overtake ’em. They hain’t been 
gone long.” 

He dashed out again and ran toward home. Eva 
saw him enter the barn and draw out the buggy,, 
and back the horse between the thills with feverish 
haste. He had just got everything ready for start- 
ing when Cindy came panting and puffing into the 
yard. “Take me with you!” she cried. “I want 
to go. I’ll pull every hair out of Ely Nayburn’s 
head. You see if I don’t.” 

“Climb in then,” said Dan Bruler, and Cindy 
“climbed in.” 

Giving the horse a cut with the whip, they 
dashed up the road in the direction of Meadow- 
ville. Eva smiled as she watched them from a 
window. It was again raining heavily. 

“They will have a nice ride through all this rain 
and mud, and they say the roads are awful, and 
washed out in places,” she soliloquise^. “I am 
sorry for the poor horse. I half wish I had not 
told him that. I never thought he would go 


336 


EVA. 


after them or I wouldn’t have done it, out of pity 
for the horse. I am not sorry for Dan Bruler 
though. I hope he will get into the mud all over. 
And as for Mrs. Nayburn — she drove me out in a 
fearful storm regardless of what might happen to 
me, and in the night too. I don’t pity her either. 
I should think this cold wind and rain would cool 
their rage if anything would.” 


CHAPTER XXL 

In about an hour Mrs Bruler returned, feeling 
much better. Dr. Rhine had done everything pos- 
sible for her comfort. She came in looking so 
much more like her old self that Eva’s spirits rose 
joyously. She decided not to say anything at 
present about what had transpired during Mrs. 
Bruler’s absence. She had said what she did to 
Dan Bruler upon the impulse of the moment, and 
without any thought other than to cause him a 
pang of jealousy. She smiled whenever she thought 
how they had looked as they went up the road, 
and she expected they would see the folly of pur- 
suit and turn back, but as time passed and they 
did not come she made up her mind that they in- 
tended to go on to Meadowville and satisfy them- 
selves as to whether Mr. Nayburn and Mrs. Bru- 
ler had gone there. 

One thing which had convinced Dan Bruler that 
his much abused wife had run away was the fact 
that Meadowville was the nearest railroad station. 
That had not occurred to Eva at first, but now 
she thought of it, and as they did not return she 
concluded that they meant to go to the depot and 
find out if anyone answering Mrs. Bruler’s des- 


338 


EYA. 


cription had bought a ticket, or been seen taking 
a train at that place. If they had gone to Mead- 
owville they would not be back until late in the 
evening, perhaps midnight, for it was ten miles to 
that place, so it would be a twenty mile drive. 
The rains which had fallen almost incessantly for 
the past two weeks had flooded the streams and 
covered the low lands with water until driving 
was anything but a pleasure. 

“Has Dan been in since I went to the doctor’s?” 
asked Mrs. B ruler at length. 

“Yes,” replied Eva, “he came in and called you 
but when you did not answer he asked me where 
you were and I told him you had gone out in Mr. 
Nay burn’s buggy.” 

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Bruler, beginning to tremble, 
“was he angry?” 

“He did not appear to like it very well,” said 
Eva. 

“Did you tell him I went to the doctor’s?” 

“No, I merely told him the direction in which 
you started. He asked me which way you went, 
and I told him. He might as well hear it then, as 
to find it out from some one else later. Not long 
after that he hitched the horse into the buggy 
and drove away in the same direction, and passed 
where you turned off.” 

“Oh,” faltered Mrs. Bruler. “I’m afraid he will 
be dreadfully angry with me. I dread his coming 
home.” 

“Don’t you fear him at all,” said Eva. “I will 
stay with you, and he shall not abuse you if I 


EYA. 


339 


have to call out the whole village to protect you. 
Now go to bed and I will make you some tea and 
toast and bring it up to you. Do not get nervous 
for I will see that everything is all right. I will 
not leave you alone in the house one minute.” 

Mrs. Bruler thanked her and after she was com- 
fortable in bed and had had her tea and toast, 
Eva told her of the remarkable things which had 
happened to herself. 

Mrs. Bruler listened in amazement, and her 
astonishment was only equaled by her joy at 
Eva’s good fortune. 

“I remember the tragedy that left your old home 
desolate,” she said, “but how little I dreamed that 
I was being honored by the presence in my hum- 
ble home of the lost heiress of Arcadia. Everyone 
in this village supposed that the little girl was 
killed by that Gypsy woman, and when your old 
nurse, Mrs Prayton, said that she believed you 
were living because she had seen your mother in 
her dreams and she had told her so, the people 
here, and even her own husband, thought she had 
brooded over her loss until her mind had become 
unhinged on that subject. She never liked the 
village people very well. They were not high- 
toned enough for her, and she took no pains to 
conceal her dislike. She never would go among 
them or associate with them. She held herself 
aloof and would hardly speak to any of us unless 
it was about business.” 

“But she has expressed a desire to get acquainted 
with you,” said Eva. “Since I told her how good 


340 


EVA. 


you were to me when Mrs. Jones sent me away, 
she says she would like to know you.” 

Mrs. Bruler smiled. She was thinking how Mrs. 
Jones would regret her harshness to Eva when 
she found that the girl was the lost heiress of the 
Graylands. 

“She would not have been so particular as to 
whether Eva became converted or not, and Eddie 
could have taken his whipping from the heiress 
with much better grace than from a homeless and 
penniless outcast,” she thought, and the situation 
caused her to laugh outright. Eva looked at her 
in surprise. “I was only thinking, my dear,” said 
Mrs. Bruler, “how much more willing Mrs. Jones 
would be to have Eddie punished by the heiress of 
Arcadia than by plain little Eva Dumond. That’s 
all.” 

As evening came and Dan Bruler did not return 
his wife concluded that he had gone on another 
one of his periodical sprees. He was almost sure 
to do so after he had been unusually brutal to her. 
She told Eva that she should not be surprised if 
he did not come home for two or three days, as he 
often remained away that long and sometimes 
much longer, as he had when he had the tremens. 

Eva kept her own counsel so far as his taking 
Mrs. Nayburn with him, and Mrs. Bruler asked 
her to stay with her all night, to which she con- 
sented, for she knew if he came home in a rage he 
would not dare treat his wife with personal 
violence if she was in the house. She knew that 
Mrs. Pray ton would not be uneasy about her, 


EYA. 


341 


for she had told her when she came away that she 
might stay all night with Mrs. Bruler. 

They retired at ten oclock and the night wore 
away and still he did not come. When morning 
came Mrs. Bruler pronounced herself so much 
recovered as to feel almost well. She still kept a 
bandage about her throat, and wet it occasionally 
with a soothing lotion which Dr. Rhine had given 
her, but she arose and went about her household 
duties as usual. 

“I am sure he has gone on one of his sprees,” 
she said to Eva. “Stay with me as long as you 
can, won’t you?” 

About noon a man came to the door and rap- 
ped. Mrs. Bruler opened the door. 

“Does Dan Bruler live here?” asked the man. 

“He does,” she replied, “but he is not at home 
at present.” 

“Well, I live on the road to Meadowville, more’n 
half way from here, and this mornin’ I found a 
horse and a broken buggy under one of my sheds 
a little piece from my house. The horse had 
dragged the buggy, broken as it was, into my lot, 
and went under the shed for shelter, and I don’t 
believe anybody guided him there. I think he 
turned in there of his own accord. The horse was 
all right; that is he didn’t seem to be injured any, 
but there was some marks of the whip on him. I 
put him in my barn and fixed him up comfortable, 
and then I started out to see who had met with 
an accident. I went and looked at the buggy 
tracks where they turned in, and I see they come 


342 


EVA. 


from this way. I went along the road till I come 
to Mill Creek and I see the bridge was broke down 
and the water rushin’ through it. The creek is 
ragin' now since all the rain, and I was afraid 
somebody had gone through the bridge. The 
buggy tracks turned off before I got to the creek 
and I followed 'em and see they had come up the 
bank a little ways below the bridge on the side 
where I was, which would be the other side from 
here. I could see where the horse had struggled up 
the bank draggin’ the buggy after him. He must 
have gone down when the bridge broke away and 
been carried down the creek a little ways an’ 
then got his feet on the bottom enough to give 
him a chance to get up onto the bank. The cur- 
rent is narrow but it’s terrible swift in the mid- 
dle of the stream. I went back an’ notified some 
of my neighbors an’ we made a search but we 
haven’t found nobody; but one man said he knew 
the horse and buggy was Dan Bruler’s, an’ so I 
come around by the other road a purpose to tell 
you about it.” 

Mrs. Bruler turned pale and began to tremble 
and Eva went to her and put her arm around her. 

“Come in,” she said to the man, and she placed a 
chair for him. 

He noticed Mrs. Bruler’s agitation and said 
sympathetically, “I wouldn’t be scared for there 
might not have been anybody in the buggy when 
it went through the bridge. He might have got 
out somewhere and the horse might have gone on 
of its own accord.” 


EYA. 


343 


'•No! no!” she said. “He did not come home last 
night and I am afraid he is drowned. I did not 
know when he started from home, for I was out 
at the time, but I’m afraid he was in the buggy 
when it went through the bridge and that the 
current swept him away. Don’t you remember 
when the floods washed out that bridge four 
years ago, and Mr. Cale went through and he and 
his horse were both drowned?” 

“I remember/’ replied the man. “I ought to, 
for I helped take him out of the water. I’ll go 
right back an’ get up a searching party, and we 
will go down the creek an’ see if we can discover 
anything. In the meantime if he should turn up 
all right, you let us know.” 

He went out and entering his buggy drove away. 

The news traveled fast, as such news always 
does, and men from Greendell joined in the search. 
Toward the close of the afternoon a man appeared 
who had just heard the news, and declared that 
he had met Dan Bruler the day before, on that 
road, not more than two miles from the bridge in 
question, and with a woman in his buggy, who 
“looked for all the world like Cindy Nay burn.” 

When Ely heard that he hastily joined the search- 
ers. He had thought nothing of his wife’s ab- 
sence, because she had often taken offense at 
something he had said or done, and gone away 
from home and staid all night to punish him. 

Once she had remained away two nights; there- 
fore when she had not come home on the night 
after he took Mrs. Bruler to the doctor, he had 


344 


EYA. 


given himself no uneasiness, whatever, for he sup- 
posed that she was punishing him again for some 
fancied wrong. 

When he heard this man’s statement, the mystery 
grew deeper, for why should she be driving with Dan 
Bruler, on the road to Meadowville? It was per- 
fectly inexplicable why those two persons should 
be travelling together. 

When Eva was questioned in regard to his de- 
parture from home, she stated that just as he was 
about ready she saw a woman come up and en- 
ter the buggy, and saw them start off, but as it 
was a common courtesy among the village and 
country people to take one of their neighbors in to 
ride with them if they happened to have business in 
the same direction she had thought nothing strange 
of that. 

All the remainder of that day the searching 
party dragged the creek, and just at nightfall their 
efforts were rewarded. The two bodies were found 
in the mill-dam, a mile below the bridge, where 
they had been carried by the swift current. Cindy’s 
arms were clasped tightly about Dan Bruler’s neck, 
and her fingers clutched his clothing in the grip of 
death. The best of swimmers could not have 
saved himself, encumbered as he was. 

“She must have grabbed right onto him when 
the buggy fell into the creek,” said one man. “He 
didn’t have no chance.” 

“I guess if he hadn’t drownded she’d have stran- 
gled him with that grip of her’s afore he could ’a’ 
got loose,” said another. 


EYA. 


345 


The two bodies were brought to their homes and 
prepared for burial. The whole village turned out 
to the funerals, and it was the cause of wonder and 
gossip for weeks. All sorts of stories were set 
afloat concerning them. One old lady was heard 
to remark that “of all the men fer miles around 
she should think Dan Bruler would have been the 
last one that any woman would elope with.” 

Eva was somewhat shocked at the violent death 
which the two had met, but her heart was very 
light whenever she thought of Mrs. Bruler, and 
how calm and peaceful her life would be now that 
she was rid of the tyrant who had made her every 
hour unhappy. And now according to her aunt’s 
will she would come into her little fortune of six 
thousand dollars. When Eva thought of that her 
heart throbbed with joy. 

“I am glad the horse was saved,” she thought, 
“for he is worth much more than the man; and if 
I were in her place I should rejoice to think I was 
free from that wretch forever.” 

Mrs. Bruler bore herself with dignity and good 
sense through it all. She would not pretend to a 
grief she could not feel. She gave him a decent 
burial and neither w T ept or mourned, but went 
about her duties with a grave face and subdued 
manner. She said very little, but what she did 
say was neither hypocritical or offensive. 

Ely Nayburn behaved in much the same manner. 
He felt shocked at the violent death which his wife 
had suffered, but in spite of his desire to suppress 
disloyal thoughts, there was a voice in his heart 
which sang, “free” — “free.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Three years have passed and Eva has seen her 
eighteenth birthday. She has spent those three 
years to great advantage. She is now through 
with her school days, and has come out to take 
her place in the world. She came from school di- 
rectly to the Erl win mansion, for Jessamine insisted 
that she should spend some time wdth her be- 
fore going to her own home, which had been re- 
stored to all its former beauty. The nurse declared 
it was even finer than before, and as none of them 
had ever seen it in the days of its former glory, 
they were not in a position to dispute her word. 
All had been done that money could do to make 
it perfect, and Eva declared that she had never 
dreamed of anything so beautiful, when they went 
out there one day to visit it. 

All the treasures in marble, tapestry, paintings, 
inlaid furniture, silver and china, had been restored 
to their former places. A new stable had been 
built, capable of accommodating twenty horses. 
The fish pond had been restored, and all the rus- 
tic seats and arbors. The lawns were like velvet, 
the flower garden filled with everything desirable, 
and Mrs. Prayton, beaming with delight, had 


a 


EVA. 


347 


shown them with pride and joy, every nook and 
corner of the grand old place. 

“It is rightly named, ,, said Eva, “for the original 
Arcadia could not have been lovelier or more rest- 
ful and heavenly than this.” 

“It is perfect,” declared Jessamine. “You ought 
to be proud of such an inheritance. And your for- 
tune turned out to be even greater than Ernest 
supposed, for you have a million left, now, after 
all the expense of restoring this.” 

Jessamine’s marriage to Ernest Grayland was 
now but a few weeks distant. The three years had 
brought her to the age her father required her 
to be before entering the marriage state. These 
years had only made the lovers more devoted to 
each other, and now they were soon to be rewarded 
for their constancy. 

Eva had learned much in these three years. She 
had learned that Fanchette’s view of marriage 
was not shared by the majority. She also learned 
that a woman who lives such a life as Fanchette 
had lived was shunned and avoided by the major- 
ity. But that knowledge had only made her heart 
more tender toward the friend and protector of 
her childhood. If Fanchette had been denounced as 
vile, and persecuted by all the world, Eva would 
have risen up in her defense in the face of all odds. 

It was characteristic of her race, the Graylands, 
to side with the weaker and more defenseless; to 
aid the persecuted, and remain loyal to one who 
had been faithful and devoted to them. This trait 
of character Eva had inherited in the highest de- 
gree. 


348 


EVA. 


Every vacation she had from school she had di- 
vided between Fanchette and Mrs. Prayton. As 
she grew more worldly-wise, she realized more 
what Fanchette had suffered to cause her to be- 
come reckless and abandoned. Her pity for her 
grew greater. At times the scenes of her childhood 
rose up before her, and tears would fill her eyes at 
the remembrance of Fanchette ’s tenderness to her. 
She also began to realize what her care and sup- 
port had cost her, and she felt that it was little 
enough for her to do in return, to make Fan- 
chette’s life peaceful and happy for the remainder 
of her days. 

Dick, also, had been sent to school, and Ernest 
Grayland had made him his special charge. Dick 
had remained with Mr. and Mrs. Brown for a few 
months, and then Ernest had insisted that he give 
himself into his care, to be educated and fitted for 
a business life, and Dick had been only too thank- 
ful to do so. 

When Dick was placed in school, Tom Lexington 
went with him, for the two boys were great friends. 

Curley remained with Mr. Brown, who grew 
very fond of the little dog, and when Eva was out 
on a vacation she always went to see him. Her 
kitten was now a fine, large cat, and the pride of 
Mrs. Prayton who had taken it to care for when 
Eva went away to school. 

One evening a few days before Eva was to go to 
her own home they were all assembled in the li- 
brary of the Erlwin mansion. Jessamine’s Aunt 
Anna, Mr. Erlwin, Ernest Grayland, Jessamine and 


EYA. 


349 


Eva were there. They had been discussing the 
question of servants for Arcadia. “You will in- 
stall Mrs. Prayton as housekeeper, I suppose?” 
said Jessamine’s aunt. “But really, Eva, my child, 
you ought to have some female relative to live 
with you. It is hardly suitable for you to live 
alone with your servants, even with your devoted 
Mrs. Prayton as companion. It is extremely un- 
fortunate that you have no middle-aged relative 
who could make her home with you.” 

“Oh, I will not need anyone beside Fanchette,” 
replied Eva. “She is middle-aged, and she will do 
as well as anyone. With Mrs. Prayton and Fan- 
chette I shall do very well.” 

There was an ominous silence. The rest of the 
little company looked at each other in amazement. 
That Eva would take Fanchette into her own 
home they had never dreamed. They thought that 
Fanchette had been abundantly provided for. She 
had been given an allowance, and was living in 
comfortable rooms in a respectable part of the 
city, and had been conducting herself in an irre- 
proachable manner during the three years gone by. 
But that Eva should take her home with her was 
in their eyes preposterous. At last Jessamine’s 
aunt broke the silence which had fallen upon them 
after that startling declaration. 

“My dear child,” she said, in accents of mild 
horror, “you will never think serioush 7 of taking 
that woman into your own home, I hope.” 

“Why?” she demanded, so suddenly that her 
questioner looked startled. 


350 


EYA. 


“My dear Eva,” said that lady in a deprecating 
tone, “the woman is not a fit companion for you. 
Do you forget what her past life has been? She is 
not good enough to become an inmate of your own 
home— a trusted companion.” 

Eva turned and regarded her calmly, her blue 
eyes growing dark. Then she raised her head with 
the haughty air of her race, and turning her face 
toward the rest of the group, whose silence ex- 
pressed as plainly as words, their disapproval, she 
said in a low, clear voice which penetrated to 
every corner of the room: 

“No, I do not forget what her past life has been. 
Neither do I forget that I was fed and clothed for 
years with the money which was paid to poor 
Fanchette as the price of her degradation. If she 
had not been burdened with me, a helpless infant, 
she might never have fallen into evil ways.” 

“But she tried to teach you to live the same 
kind of life. I don’t see how you can overlook 
that.” 

“Fanchette was perfectly sincere in her teach- 
ings,” said Eva, “for she had become embittered 
toward all men through her own experience in 
married life as well as single life. She had come to 
believe that men were mere selfish animals, actu- 
ated only by a wish to gratify their own selfish- 
ness in all ways, regardless of the happiness or 
welfare of the women who contributed to their 
pleasures. She thought, that being the case, that 
women should retaliate by treating the men in 
much the same way, in getting money from them 


EYA. 


351 


with which to buy creature comforts, and at the 
same time avoiding any legal bonds or obligations. 
Can you not see how one who has had such an 
experience as Fanchette’s might come to see things 
in that light ?” 

“I don’t see how you can expect me, a good 
churchwoman, and as I hope, a Christian, to see 
things in any such light. I know that the woman 
is not good enough to touch the hem of your gar- 
ments. You know she is not good enough to live 
with you.” 

“I will be the judge of that,” replied Eva. “If 
Fanchette was good enough to care for me in my 
helpless infancy, if she was good enough to hold 
me in her arms and rock me to sleep, to spend her 
money for doctors for me, and attend me in all 
my baby ills, to feed me, to clothe me, shelter me,, 
and soothe and comfort all my little troubles and 
childish griefs, she is good enough to live with me 
now, and share my home and all my good fortune. 
I will try to make her life so bright, henceforth, 
that she will forget the hideous past. Fanchette 
shall live with me in Arcadia.” 

There was silence in the room for a few moments 
after she ceased speaking, then Mr. Erlwin leaned 
over the back of Jessamine’s chair and said in a 
low voice: “ ‘This day shalt thou be with me in 
Paradise.’ ” 

Jessamine turned with an angelic smile, then ris- 
ing, she went to Eva and put her arms around 
her. 

“Eva is right,” she said, “and has shown more 


352 


EVA. 


of a Christian spirit than any one of us. All 
honor to her for it.” 

Ernest placed his hand caressingly on Eva’s 
head. 

“She is a true Grayland,” he said proudly. “I 
have never known a member of our family who 
was ever guilty of the baseness of ingratitude.” 

Eva turned to him with a dazzling smile. “It 
would be ingratitude of the basest description, 
wouldn’t it?” she said. “But,” turning to Jessa- 
mine and placing an arm about her, “you mis- 
take, my dear, when you call me a Christian. To 
be a real Christian one must follow Christ’s teach- 
ings to the letter, and how many persons are there 
who thoughtlessly declare themselves Christians 
who ever stop to consider what it implies? 
Charity for all, even the most vicious, and vile. 
How many of us have that? Forgiveness to all 
those who injure us, and love to our enemies. We 
have no such divine patience as that. At least I 
know I haven’t. Christ forgave his enemies even 
while He was undergoing torture at their hands. 
Would anyone of us do that? No, indeed. We 
would be wishing that we might get hold of a 
good revolver so that we might give our tor- 
mentors as good as they gave us. And yet if 
you were to ask almost anyone now-a-days — no 
matter how full of spite and selfishness and un- 
charitableness they were — if they were a Christian, 
they would say, ‘Why of course I am. Did you 
think I was a heathen?’” 

Jessamine’s aunt winced. “But you will probably 


EYA. 


353 


marry, some day, Eva,” she said, “and your hus- 
band may not view Fanchette’s presence in your 
home in the same light that you do. What then?” 

“Oh, yes he will,” said Eva joyfully, “for I am 
going to marry Dick — dear old Dick. We settled 
all that yesterday. He has always liked Fanchette. 
He ought to for she was very kind to him and 
has often fed him when he was hungry and she 
knew his ‘old gent’ was away on one of his sprees. 
Dick is all right. I think I have loved him ever 
since I have known him, only I did not realize it 
until I came back from school and saw how 
handsome he had grown. Then more than that, 
he is the only man I could trust.” 

They all smiled. 

“One would think you were world- wise and world- 
weary,’’ said Ernest. “I am glad my little cousin 
has grown so shrewd. But Dick is a good boy 
and you might do much worse. May 1 ask when 
the interesting event is to occur?” 

“Oh, not for ever so long. Not until we are 
older. We are going to wait— that is I am— quite 
a while yet. And if I wait, he will have to, for he 
can’t marry till I am ready.” 

“What do you suppose society and people in 
general will say if they find out about Fanchette?” 
asked Jessamine’s aunt. “Do you think they will 
visit you and be passive in regard to her? That 
they will shut their eyes to her very questionable 
past? Think of that, my dear.” 

“Oh, they will as long as I have plenty of 
money,” she replied, “and without that they 


354 


EYA. 


would not come anyway. That was another 
thing 1 learned while I was among the girls at 
school. That money is really all that counts in 
the opinion of fashionable society. If one has 
money they know one. If one has not, they don’t, 
and there you are.” 

Ernest and Jessamine could control their amuse- 
ment no longer and they laughed till the room 
rang. Mr. Erl win also quietly laughed. 

“You will have to own that you are beaten in a 
fair argument, Aunt Anna,” said Jessamine. 
“Everything indicates that little Eva has acquired 
much worldly wisdom within the last three years. 
She will do very nicely.” 

“But,” said Eva, “my happiness does not de- 
pend upon the approval of fashionable society. I 
want only those who truly care for me. I shall be 
happy and satisfied to live with Dick and Fanchette 
and my old nurse in Arcadia. Fashionable society 
may come or stay away as they choose. Nature 
will ever have more charms for me than the hyp- 
ocritical and empty compliments of fashionable 
society.” 

When informed of Eva’s decision in regard to 
her future, Fanchette wept, but they were tears of 
joy. She had been a victim of conflicting hopes 
and fears ever since the young girl had been away 
to school, and when in the vacations she never 
failed to come and see her, Fanchette began to 
hope that the education which Eva would acquire 
through contact with the world would not entirely 
alienate her affections from the guardian of her 


EVA. 


355 


childhood. But to be allowed to live in a beauti- 
ful home like Arcadia, with her idolized Eva as 
her constant companion, was far more happiness 
than she had dared to hope for. 

“I might have known that nothing could change 
her faithful heart,” she said. ‘‘I ought to have 
known her better than to think that contact with 
the world would spoil her. I wronged her even 
to doubt her. But it will be a heaven for me. She 
is placing me in Paradise.” 


Three years later if anyone had passed through 
Grcendell on a tour of inspection he would have 
seen the old haunted house with its grounds trans- 
formed into a veritable Eden. It was fittingly 
named Arcadia. The lawns were restored to all 
their former velvety beauty. The summer houses 
and rustic arbors, the fish-pond, the grotto; all 
the wonderful nooks and retreats were restored. 
Flowers bloomed on every side, statues gleamed 
and fountains splashed amid the shrubbery, and 
the gravel walks and drives went winding about 
through this fairyland up to the great house which 
had, under the hands of skilled workmen, been 
brought as near a state of perfection as was pos- 
sible. 


356 


EVA. 


All the treasures in art, and all the furnishings 
which Mrs. Prayton had guarded so zealously 
were in their old places, and many new ones 
added. 

It had been Eva’s expressed desire that the 
interior should be made to look as nearly like 
what it had been in her parents’ time as was pos- 
sible, and good Mrs. Prayton was delighted. She 
had made it her especial study; therefore, all she 
could replace in their old position she had arranged 
to look as nearly as possible as they did of yore, 
and Eva expressed herself delighted. 

Jessamine had feared a rivalry between Mrs. 
Prayton and Fanchette which would result in 
jealousy and discord, but nothing of the kind 
occurred. 

Mrs. Prayton was never made acquainted with 
the facts in regard to Fanchette’s unfortunate past 
and therefore she had nothing to criticize. She 
pronounced herself deeply grateful to Fanchette 
for her care of Eva, and particularly for her hav- 
ing reared her in comfort, and never having 
allowed her to become a working girl. 

“You must have had to deny yourself many 
things which you really wanted in order to pro- 
vide for her so generously, when you were only in 
moderate circumstances, for a child makes much 
expense,” she said, and Fanchette replied, “I loved 
Eva and never grudged her anything. She was my 
only treasure.” And that speech won for her 
Mrs. Prayton’s everlasting good will. 

Eva and Dick were married not long after 


EYA. 


357 


Ernest and Jessamine, and just previous to the de- 
parture of the two last named for an extended 
trip to Egypt and through Europe, expecting to 
be away two years. 

In the little village of Greendell there has not 
been much change. Mrs. Jones is miserable and 
unhappy, and leans heavily upon the Rev. Mr. 
Pheelbad for sympathy and consolation, for her 
idol, her darling Eddie, has been sent to a reform 
school for stealing, and she is disconsolate on that 
account. It is in vain that the minister tells her that 
“this is her cross” and she “must bear it with 
Christian fortitude.” She constantly bewails the 
cruelty of the village people to her innocent boy, 
and looks upon him as a martyr to injustice and 
unfeeling heartlessness. 

“If he had not been in bad company,” she wails, 
“he would not now be where he is. It is all their 
fault.” 

The home of Ely Nayburn is now presided over 
by a new mistress, and Ely's face beams with con- 
tent and satisfaction. He has married Mrs. Bruler, 
and their home is full of the sweet peace and har- 
mony which these two souls know how to appre- 
ciate after their former matrimonial experience. 

Old Mr. and Mrs. Brown have fallen heir to a 
small legacy which provides for all their needs, 
and will make them comfortable in their declining 
years. 

Cecil still lives at the farm and heartily hates it 
and everything connected with it. 

Tom has a good position in the city, which was 


358 


EYA. 


procured for him by Ernest Grayland, and he 
promises Cecil that as soon as he can get pro- 
moted and an increase in salary accordingly, he 
will have her come to the city and live with him 
in a flat, and that is the brightest prospect to 
which she looks forward. 

Curley is getting old now, and the kitten has 
grown to be a dignified cat, but the two are the 
best of friends, as they lie sleeping in the sunshine, 
or frolic through the shady walks and over the 
velvety lawns in the beautiful grounds. 

No more will the grand old place be shadowed 
by the grim suspicion of harboring ghostly occu- 
pants, for Mrs. Prayton has confessed that she 
and she alone was the familiar spirit which gave 
the house its gruesome title. In order to protect 
it from vandals, and keep it for her beloved Eva, 
she had frightened the intruders with the help of 
phosphorus and stage thunder and lightning. 
More than once she had rubbed phosphorus on the 
frame of the portrait which hung above the fire- 
place, when she saw a party of boys approaching 
the house. She had dressed herself in white and 
stood in the window where she could be seen by 
passers-by, and she had enacted the scene of the 
tragedy by a pistol shot, a cry, a fall and the 
hurrying footsteps in the upper rooms when she 
knew there were intruders in the rooms below. 

The village people are much pleased with the way 
things have terminated, and are proud of having 
such a place within the borderline of Greendell. 
And while goodwill and friendship prevail among 


EYA. 


359 


them for the occupants thereof, the lives of those 
occupants are ideal, for love, harmony and happi- 
ness reign supreme, and the white wings of perfect 
peace overshadow those who dwell in the little 
earthly paradise they call Arcadia. 







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